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Now that love's hands have lifted from my searching eyes, I have begun to see. I look at the faces of those who love has captured, and my misanthropic vision clouds their joy. Don't they know what love will do to them? It will consume them, body and soul. It will control their minds and make them do things they swore they would never do. And once love's soft touch wraps around your finger, you can never let it go. Like a child, it grows. It then holds your hand, and demands to be carried, even when it has grown too big. Love wraps its legs around your waist and its arms tightly around your neck. You can still breathe, but only when love lets you.
My love has become hopefully vulnerable. It sees those that it has loved before, and those who have loved me and it tugs me along as it tries to pursue them. I trip over my own feet, I feel awkward and unwanted. But love doesn't understand that. It is blissfully ignorant, and it does not realize the destruction it causes within my heart and soul. It welds, twists, and mangles the metal of my strong heart. It entices my soul, then disappoints with flawed morale. 
But through all this, I hold on.

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