What is it about love that keeps us a prisoner of emotion, whether cruel hurt, silent surrender, or delicate joy.
Our longing for propinquity is human, aside of our individual twisted calamities of love, I find refuge in knowing I'm not alone in longing for that propinquity we all silently, or vocally, yearn for.
I suppose love is another gripping emotion that binds us together as a couplet.
I'm proud to say that love no longer writes my story, but i write loves. Yet in contemplation, is it any different? If i write love, love must have found me.
.. Interesting.
The purpose-- Can we not love our enemy because they once loved also? Just another binding of our human exterior and soul emotion one to another.
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