I always believed that real love is kind of like a super model before she’s air brushed; it’s pure and imperfect, just the way that God intended. See I’m going to be honest, I’m not a love poet. But if I was to wake up tomorrow morning and decide that I really wanted to write about love I swear that my first poem, it would be about you. About how I love you the same way that I learned how to ride a bike: scared, but reckless with no training wheels or elbow pads, so my scars can tell the story of how I fell for you.