He and she are quiet. Letting the air shifting in an eerie motion. Choked from the inside, he has no word to say. She is all he can think of. The love, the pain, the stubbornness, the sweet things, the attention, the tears, the anger. He holds his breath. The rage suffocates him.
However, the truth slams him. Wakes him. Calms him. He still loves her even if he was mad. He likes her even he was disappointed with her. He cares even when he is angry. He still can’t let her alone.
Maybe angry is another form of love. The bitter side of it. But it is still called love.
It is love.