a Few Lines of Fiction

     Loving you was like releasing the pressure on a wound I thought had healed, just to find my new white tee covered in blood. I suppose I could stop the flow but I was filled just as much with wonder as I was with dislike. I suppose the only thing stronger than instinct is love anyway. The only reason we would put ourselves in harms way, is love. The only reason we sacrifice, is love. I might as well just admit it now; I would bleed dry, for you.