If I’ve learned anything at all about love, it’s that it’s just like childbirth. You can read as many books about the subject as you want with the hope it’s going to prepare you but once it hits, there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It has a mind of its own and does not give a fuck if it’s a good time or if you’re ready. You can’t pick when it happens, or where. You can’t slow it down. You can’t make it stop. And you can’t make it hurt any less. Because that’s the thing about love that surprises you. Love hurts like hell. The part that feels good? That’s infatuation, that’s the fantasy. When you hit love, it doesn’t hold it’s punches. It hurts. You can’t comprehend the hurting by reading about it. There are no words to describe it. It’s going to tear you apart but it probably won’t kill you even though you’ll have moments you wished it did. If you stick with it, and work really hard, your love just might mature into something amazing someday. But if you don’t treat it right or give it enough of your time and effort, you’ll probably end up with a punk ass criminal in 15 years.