It's a beautiful sickness. So if you think to know this Venus-flytrap of a thing called Love has a cure, or more specific maybe, a treatment of symptoms, then you might just think the whole thing's controllable. A game of pick-and-choose, but it's not. Certainly not in it's entirety anyways, although there may be some. There's a choice in taking the risk, yes. After that? Well, after that it's all out the window with the wind. Caught up and thrown around to the sick heart's content and kicked to a ditch. Until you treat it. Treat it.
I seem only able to fall in love with girls I really have no business falling in love with. What a curse this is.
