love made us crazy by Sarah Chaudhry (17, New York)

Is there no strength in the art of delicacy? No shame when we walked away from my home, earth, foundation, and core with our bags packed and hands held so closely that our hope transpired. They say summer’s cruel compared to winter’s brutality, so spring must have been mercy and autumn erratic. All that is left is to fall from the chains of grace and honor. Screams that speak of and yet conceal cries and wallow at how love drove us to our ends. Did it? Your words. My heart. My words. Your heart. Crack. Layered crack. Combust. We know so little of it.

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Does it truly exist? At the bare minimum, it is an art that we pour our lives, souls, smiles, tears,
and laughs into patterns we call living - can you imagine such a thing? To fall into such a state
that remembering is as impossible as forgetting. Has love driven us crazy or did we? My lips.
Your eyes. Who was the worse drug?