We often confuse love with extravagant admiration. You adore certain people, you revere them as your world, you give them everything; irony— they still left you.
It is because we fall in love with glitters it gives, and the latter often imitate the first. We find the most beautiful faces, yet tend to overshadow its quality. Sometimes, we so much praise the smooth texture of the porcelain without realizing it was faux.
The two are almost the same that most people saw them indifferently. It is like the color between violet and indigo. Between the split second of one and two. They are both feelings, but one is true.
Infatuation demands happiness every time, it sought for affection, and always looking for smile. It has the most lusters, the lights, and blaze. Yet, it wouldn't be forever. It will end shortly, when things won't run right, when its fire will run out or burn both souls— leaving one brokenhearted.
And then there it is the other half. Love. It is the the most rare of the two. Only few attested this kind, and most of them filled with scars. It gives pain, it breaks us, it hurts. Love gives us a million reason to give up, yet only one to stay.
Only the brave have dared to cross its path, and only them survived— and not all of them. Most of them have tried, yet failed. Many of them have run out of fire, yet chose to rekindle its fire. And then, there they are the few who chose to survive every quest despite all the pain, scythes and scars, smiling with their success.
It is not the happiness that it gives but how you choose to smile even in the middle of pain because of someone you love.
©schistus
S