I don’t believe in black-and-white love. The kind of love that just comes into being without much preamble, drives you all kinds of insane and leaves without a trace in your soul. Like a storm it keeps your senses in whirling delirium, and leads you to destruction. I have felt that kind of love before and all it led me to was disappointment- disappointment that I failed to hold on to it and it slipped out of my fingers like grains of sand, that I fell short of what was expected of me to keep the fire burning so majestically, that it had to end. I have come to believe in grey love, love that crawls under your skin slowly, the kind that makes no great deal out of itself but kindles hope in the darkness of your soul, keeps you warm in the ice-cold of your heart, ignites your spirit to run away from the shackles of your past. It comes with no wild promises of forever, no instruction manual, but runs through you like a wheel; never ending nor beginning, ever-spinning wheel. In the incessant interplay of vices and virtues within you, it keeps you sane and the only casualties that this love brings are the bits of naiveness that nestled inside you once, and leaves you not in ruins, but only stronger.