Some love stories are not earthbound. Some love stories occur in a different space. You cannot explain them to people or put them in words or contain them in any other manner. You don’t fear its end, nor regret its failure. You just sit and wonder how you ended up experiencing something so starkly beautiful. How it has made everything else around a little less brighter in shade. All the glitter and gloss around you doesn’t affect its chastity. Innocent, Relentless love stories. And then at times you dolefully wince, why me? And you counter react in disbelief, is it even possible? It doesn’t annihilate you, it crumbles you in pieces, bit by bit. Like a deep quagmire sucking you out of breath, but slowly. There is no right or wrong, there is no end to it, there is tenderness, there is pain, there is so much that cannot be written, you know, in that kind of love.