Love is on a number of levels, an intruder with the power to resuscitate one's soul, or burn one's mind with unobtainable desires. We've all been saturated by both real love and by the idea of love, but in its most obscure way, love is a desperate attempt by the human mind to create a purpose for existence; like black holes, humanity has been consumed by love, to the point where despair becomes the most addictive drug. But, in its most inspiring way, love is the arrow to the bow, waiting to be released into the spacious sea in order to enchant a heart with clouds of happiness and stability. Along with its companion hope, and its antithesis, lust, love falls into the realm of the mind's most mysterious emotions; yet,lust will never be love, for as long as it endeavors, our tears cleanse all its poisons. Complicated as love may be, our souls long for it, and thus, one may gleam with love’s wonders or perish within love's cyclone of sorrow.
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