Thoughts of Love and Books

I love reading. Books are my safe haven and in a sentence my passion. I relax with books but I also hide in them, escaping from reality. This last time it was like any other “drowning” episode except that I was thinking more about why.
Of course I found no one answer but many more questions.
One of them is the question of love..
It’s hard to think about because it feels like I avoid it out of fear. The aching and hunger tears my inside like an animal and the fear lure around the corner, ready to devour me. All if I let myself embrace all my thoughts about love.
So let’s be a masochistic pray and embrace the monsters in my head, let’s write about love.

Love..
I’m 26 and now I’m starting to question if I even know what love is. I know a flame burning in the core of my being fueled with thoughts of love. Stories captivate me and some of them magically paint my inner world in color and feelings. I move to the music that magical words create in my heart and all these emotions swirl in an everlasting vortex in my head.
I wonder why words can fill me like this. I always hear words and songs in my head and they echo the nature and weather around me creating feelings. These feelings are large and fill every void in my body. So when hurt and sadness rides through my being the effect are unbelievable.
When I’m happy the greatness of me emotional essence is nice and uplifting. But now when hunger and longing occupies every fiber of my body it feels like I will perish under it.
Lovehunger..
Does it exist, my vision of love?
Stories paint a picture of this great love, love that is larger than life itself. Is it possible to meet someone you fall for in all ways possible? Like oxygen, a need for this other being. This person and your self will not be able to resist and never will you be the same again after encounter this feeling. You need each other and hungers for one another. You will give your all and receive all. Like a drug this love will consume you and you will never be able to go back to what was.
It’s large, powerful, pure and irresistible.. And real?

Are my preferences set to high? Are they only stories? Someone wrote them but had they experienced it or was it just a dream, a hunger?
Will I walk through life with this poetical mumble in my head never fully satisfied?

Picture from: http://th01.deviantart.net/fs25/300W/i/2009/024/d/d/The_Magic_of_Books_by_Tammara.jpg