more a morning person, or pleased times have
changed, before, a whit unclear, suffering from depression. but we’ll leave
that alone.
strange how it happens, to gaze upon a
certain woman, to ignore anything uncertain. it’s instantaneous, where others
pass by, that one sticks in a man’s persona. but we’ll leave that alone. or
will we?
some people dawn on our souls, they
appear, but they’ve been there for a given time. it’s quick, from sightless to
focal point, from nonchalant to intrigued. but we’ll leave that alone.
most look for a guarantee, many know it
doesn’t agree—with rhythm, life, cadence; a soul needs its reflection, where a
mind needs its passion, where a body has its lusts. getting all in a row is
difficult.
when a child is coming up, parents must
teach him about love, affection, must saturate his mind with the possibility of
excellence; same with daughters; otherwise, one misses out on the value of
other beings—especially, during adult years. but we’ll leave that alone.
abstracts permeate existence. we need
asphalt—in a design where we use attributes—if to discuss attraction, more
metaphor, more aphorisms. if to compare love, ideas are formed, while most of
our language is intangible. we don’t conjure images that are scientific, unless
creative, most often, we say “Love is like,” “Our Love is like,” “Our passion
is the depths of the seven seas”—"Our hearts chime,” “We’re mates by
souls, captured in search of one another, I found you.” certain language is
indicative of passion: my heart is tangible, but that isn’t what I mean when I say,
“I heart you.” this is a painful game, not like chess, more, I’m trying to
convey something meaningful that I can’t capture—nevertheless, adoring you is easy!
Love is difficult to address. philosophy
can go too far. it gets to a point where nothing can be discussed. with Love,
we imagine something grand. we are continually enchanting, re-enchanting, and
desperate to impress the well-beloved—men and women. this is the tragedy of our
dilemma. (some caught that!)
I need to see. I am not ready. most are
compelled from an uncontrollable center inside. this might be Love.
