I've never really cared much about love. Romantically, specifically. Platonically? I care very much. My friends are the most important people to me, and though I gag on the words, my mind speaks its love for them everyday. We are bound together in a tight-knit flock that flies solely for the enjoyment of our company. Romantically, I see no point in it. People yearn and desperately latch their nails into romantic relationships, as if it's the only thing keeping them grounded. But there is no love behind it. Romantic relationships are mutual agreements that feed the participants' egos. Romantic relationships provide the groundless with the sweet, dewy grass of pleasure. Despite my aversion, I inevitably find myself floating. I won't lie and say that the tension doesn't make my heart throb, and that the feathers of my psyche do not frill with want. My claws protract, and, though quieter and less apparent, I too, reach for the ground.