A Reflection of Love

Love is a curious thing. It is something that mesmerises me. It is something that I think about, I yearn for, something that I do not feel is abundant enough in the world. It is to me, the most beautiful thing in the world, for it can make you forget yourself, in such happiness that all things seem trivial, and it can plunge you in such sadness, that all things seem far too great to bear.

I for one do not believe that the capacity to love, is uniquely human. It exists in all things, if you only choose to look for it. It is as much in the rain that waters the flowers, as it is in the mother that weans her child, as much in the breeze that rustles leaves, as it is in the gentle kisses in lovers' smiles. It is every where around us.

In all its grand splender, Love is the quintessential oxymoron, turning fools into poets, and making paupers feel like wealthy men, just as it makes wise men act foolish, and wealthy men revel in the poverty of her absence. It brings out the best in some men, carrying them to heights they could never have even imagined on their own, and elicits the worst in other men, driving them to heinous crimes their minds cannot comprehend.

Love, a romantic's best friend, the ink of a poet's pen, she evades all that seek her, They that love love, often find themselves alienated from her. An endless search, of the most obvious glaring truth. That is what love is.

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I didn't have the energy to think of rhyme, but love will always intrigue me, and i will never tire of writing of it. In all my sadness, i draw strength that i still have the will to love and the capacity to exercise. And that, No one, can ever take from me.