Like begging God, to submit to pegs, or death so shallow it wiggles. By depth, too acute, by grains. From start to finish, it’s painful.
Love is deep. To prove becoming methods. Such abomination, or pure elixir, cursed or blessed.
What does it feel like? I’ve lost feeling, aside for lows. Everything feels low.
Mirrored staring, trancelike dominions, to get close, to realize its indifference, simultaneous depth & shallowness.
Life on earth, a miracle it seems, too much evolution to believe in love.
Humans are unique. In greater detail. Loving seems second nature, with raw understandings. It still means love; it’s just different.
I was thinking harder. I was gazing. To imagine an inspirited creature. To give so much of what becomes mediocre.
Maybe it doesn’t need to be that way. I’ve little by grandiosity in humans.
But Love was every dream, to a soul underdeveloped, I sense why humans grow lonely: self-afflicted.
If adoring is easy, we climb hills; if adoring is hard, we search for a combination.
It seems simple: We cherish what fits our ideals. Indeed, soulmates, one believed in us—to seal what needs nourishment.
