Love is a spiked drink. I mean something with spikes that you put down your throat. And your breath is taking mine away. Not in the way that the singers sing it, “You take my breath away.” No. I mean that when you breathe, you pull the life force from inside my lungs, out of my mouth and into your nostrils. You steal something from me. Something without which I cannot survive, and you use it to fill up your ribcage. It is an exquisite way to die.