These shoes need it... even my plant, Luke Wright (ex-cop cage-fighter), needs it.
L o v e, we say it frequently... and while the spelling remains unchanged, it generally means something very different to the beholder. It's whispered, seductively panted, romantically cried and catapulted into communication cornucopias everywhere, having accumulated a plethora of meaning to our daily existence.
"I love this book." "I love awkward people." "I love my dogs." "I love sexting." "I love ketchup." "Ooh, I love that movie." "Oh, yeah, blah blah restaurant, I love that place." "I love my coffee, don't judge me." "I'm falling in love...and loving it."
Kittens, clowns, hot air balloons or park benches at night, deep down everyone loves something.
(Please note: I don't love ketchup)
Kittens, clowns, hot air balloons or park benches at night, deep down everyone loves something.
(Please note: I don't love ketchup)
It's okay to say it. Some people love love. And then there are those who don't necessarily anchorage any amount of conviction on the visceral notion of said feelings and yet still, on occasion, profess their enduring love of something. I mean, who cares if it's just Neapolitan ice cream on Saturday nights. Could you imagine a world without it? Love, not Neapolitan ice cream. I can't, because everything needs... it.
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