Love feels like the last period's school bell ringing on a Friday, it excites you. It feels like walking out of school for the weekend, like being able to ignore all the annoying people you met every day.

Love feels like laying in your bed after a tiring day, it relieves you. It feels like resting your body on the mattress of your lovely bed and just sitting there, closing your eyes, like getting a full nine hours of sleep at night.

Love feels like smelling freshly cooked breakfast on a Sunday morning. It feels like sweet, golden syrup on a tower of pancakes, like a cup of coffee on a rough morning. 

Love feels likes like a bottle of orange juice after an intense run in the park. It feels like a refreshing shower with cold water in the summer, like a walk by the beach on the sunset. 

Love feels like green, the colour of happiness. It feels like the energetic tweeting of the birds in a rain forest, like the joy you get out when the plant you tried hard to grow is healthy.

Love feels nice, doesn't it? Don't ask me, I wouldn't know. 

My love feels bitter, like rotten fruit left outside of the fridge at hot morning. It feels like a dry land, where rain never splashes to relieve it, like a burnt forest. 

My love feels ugly, like the tall buildings just outside of town spitting big and dark clouds of smoke. It feels like littered with plastic seas, like inappropriate graffiti on the walls of an school. 

Whenever I look at you, my love feels like being stepped on at a concert. It feels like being laughed on at class, like slipping while walking in front of a thousands of strangers. 

But you don't care.

My love feels depressing, like having to wake up on a Monday morning. It feels like failing at all of your exams and projects, like knowing you're disliked by everyone. 

Whenever you look at me, my love never feels enough. It feels like not having an umbrella in the rain, like procrastinating to make the bad feeling go away but they only get worse.

I wish she wasn't the one that got your attention.

Our love, Momo, feels likes black, the color of sadness. It's nonexistent, black isn't actually a color. 

Our love feels like the full moon on a really dark night, too far to reach. It feels like the stinging wind when standing at the edge of a mountain, so strong it can cause you to fall to your sweet death yet so painful. 

You won't ever look my way.

The chances of my love feeling like sweet and ‘’bouncy clouds’ of sugar — cotton candy — are as many as the stars on this very night's starless sky. They've completely faded, dissapeared, like the lights from the huge billboards downtown.

Our love has always been a dark road, the glow emitting from your presence won't ever reach the depths of it in which I've been trapped for so long.

My love will always feel bitter because you chose her instead.