So, I have this horrible habit of having really ill-conceived conversations late at night. You know the kind. The ones you lay awake thinking about, the ones you can't get past. Tonight we talked about love, and here's what I think I've decided:
Falling in love is like falling down a flight of stairs.
99 times out of 100 you're going to get your ass kicked. The whole way down you're so caught up in it you think maybe, just maybe, I'll come out of this alright. That is, if you really think anything at all. All you know is you're falling.
And then there you are, flat on your ass at the bottom, nursing a bruise or two, wondering what the hell happened, where you went wrong, which step exactly was the one you missed.
But then there's that one time, if you ever get there, where you somehow nail that perfect landing.
And everything feels like it's gunna be okay.