Love

Mediocrity hangs in the middle of the mountain, a misnomer, a peaceful word, when it is advertised as some kind of downfall. And in the middle, there is a reason and a solace. I wonder sometimes about definition. Words have their limits, and many misunderstandings, they will never replace feelings, sometimes they are very false in their interpretation, and they will deceive and they will attempt to fool. And then, all I have to give to you are words, when I can no longer hold you and give you the physical part of me. Our relationship is incomplete, it hungers for the reality that only truth can bring as I hunger for the part of you that only love can bring. And love is the feeling that supercedes touch and words, it stands by itself and has no master, it has no influence to adhere to, it is naked in its truth, and its truth is of beauty. And love stands still, and I so many times, look in its direction, and my look and its search seek to be in touch, to meet to become friends. And love is just itself, and is enticing, and is in a place of its own, and that particular place, is very suggestive, and it can magnetise, and when you decide to forever pursue it, you perhaps may even accidently stumble upon it.