Love is a hell of a thing, isn't it?
I mean, you can't put your finger on it. Or rather, you can't put your finger on what it is that makes you love someone. You just do. You're not even sure where it came from, but there it is—like a splinter in your thumb that you can't get out because the skin around it has grown together too much to pry apart, or like an itch in the middle of your back that you just can't reach to scratch.
Love is this thing that happens to us sometimes without our permission or knowledge, and we don't know why or how but we just feel compelled to follow its lead. We are like puppets on strings being pulled by some invisible force toward something or someone—and we don...