Love is a hazard,

Like a Thursday night.

Busy, uncomfortable, stuck in an endless loop, waiting for it to be over.

Love is like an antique box, stored in an attic; valuable yet covered in dust.

Love looks like rotten wood with cracks between it.

Or perhaps, it is a lot like a fungus that you can't get rid of; hidden and incurable.

Love is growing on me like a moss.

It's a disaster,

A law.

But, for once.

For once, can love look like a Sunday morning; filled with warmth, calmness and motionless?

Can love feel like a hot coffee served on a winter night?

Or just as fresh as a raindrop on a leaf.

Or maybe just like a rich silk dress taken well care of?

Un-touched and un-torn?

For once can love look like the Methuselah tree filled with wisdom and not a complicated system?

Kazi Meheru Tasfia reads, writes, and draws in her spare time.