(WARNING: Schmaltzy content may offend some readers) Love is a four-letter word.

So is fear. And fall.
I never knew until now what it was to love someone this much, to actually feel for the first time ever that all the potential futures I barely dared to imagine can become reality. I never thought I'd look at someone and think "I don't ever want to be apart from you" or "I don't care what happens as long as we're together" (that is a dangerous sentiment... one should be careful what one wishes for...let it be known, Universe, that I am NOT daring you to present me with horrors on the proviso that I am with my loved one when they happen. I'd like no horrors, thanks!) (It sounds so corny, doesn't it? I'd have made spewing motions and retching noises a year ago!) But what amazes me is that in the midst of feeling happier than I ever have before, I find myself at my less rational times of the month, when reason is nowhere to be seen and raw emotion batters me in spasmodic waves, to be indulging in dystopian fantasies of betrayal, disinterest, heartbreak and loss. The higher you are, the farther you fall. And so, here I am, with my life at its very best, and consequently, so much to fear losing. I think I must be testing myself, saying, "okay, you're afraid of the worst thing happening? Well here it is! How does it feel? What about this version?! And this one?! Wham! Pow! Bam!"
It's a mad world, being a chick sometimes (or being THIS chick, anyways). You can step outside yourself and make an objective assessment, but ultimately you inhabit a place too messy and knotty to allow a clear view the bulk of the time.
I am trying to teach myself a new mantra though, a happier and more hopeful one;
Love is a four-letter word. So is home. And safe.