Love.
What is Love?
I don't think anybody really knows.
You can feel it but you cannot truly express it.
Love was not made for words.
It was made to be felt
and it was destined to consume
and conquer our souls
with no turning back.
Love is what makes us feel
alive
and dead
inside.
Love
is a fantasy.
It is what we make it to be.
A dream,
a hope,
a wish,
a thought
of
pure
happiness.
But love is not a smile.
It isn't a happy curve on our face;
it is the water running down
our red
eyes.
Love is painful
and it is cruel.
Love is the light
in your needed darkness
and the dark
in your light.
Love is not beauty.
Love is Absence.
It is the Absence
of the rain when all we
need is rain,
the ray of light when all we
want is the sun.
Love is not love.
It is not pretty,
it is not warm.
Love is not pure,
and it isn't sweet.
Love is the emptiness
left
after our heart
has been stripped off
all the loveliness inside.
Love is the lack
of fullfillment.
Love is an
everlasting
nonlasting
fantasy.
It was made for dreams
and dwells on dreams.
Love is the mouth
when there is nothing left to say.
Love is the hand,
trembling because it has nothing to grasp.
Love is the eye,
dressed in fire and washed in tears.
Love is your chest
struggling to breathe
when Love doesn't want it to.
Love is us.
Love is me.
Love is you,
desperate to find it,
reach it,
hold it
and never let it go.
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