Love

I always get these weird thoughts, branching themselves through my mind tree whenever I'm talking to you. The questions blossom, like the Jasmine in my baranda at spring. They bother me till I vent those irritations on you. They keep poking me to ask you about the pretty friend you have in your maths class.
I ask you then, 'Would you ever get bored of this?', 'Of what' you ask. That question holds the hand of the silence inside and together they creep through my heart and freezes, till it hurts and the traitor tears roll down my cheeks screaming for an answer, Shouting in despair for the silence. They demand trust. I do, I do trust him. I trust him with all my existence, but these insecurities? How do I justify my insecurities I hold so close and disgust them myself at the same time? How do I calm those terrible million questions popping up in my head- like the bubbles in water when heated- when I see you with any other girl other than me? I cannot and I get anxious, my hands get clammy. Is this how love is supposed to feel? I wonder.

A.A.