Love: to hold something higher than your own need, to value the health and happiness of some one, or some thing, at a greater measurement than your own reward. Love, like a tree, can grow twisted and gnarled yet never ceases to be love. And like a tree, love is innocent of the damage it does to those bold enough to say they understand. Love is premeditated sacrifice, like milk, when it could be blood. I’m sure at some point it was, hungry clones clawing at the host, the only