Love is a verb. Love is not a thing but a do. A doing. A state of existence. Love is sacrifice and heartache together at once. Love demands to be fulfilled, and expects their demands to be met. Love cares. More than care. Love fulfills. Love rushes. Love pulls. Love pushes to a higher order of being. Love pulls back from the brink when it is too dangerous. Love pushes again to the edge; love leans out over the expanse and wonders how much infinity weighs during the drop. Love limits nothing, restrains nothing. Love asks for truth and gives it. Love turns a blind eye, not because of fear, but because of fraud.
This one got cut off in the middle of my planned time. I didn’t get a chance to continue the thought, which is a little disappointing. Fraud? That’s the word I was working on? I wonder where that would have gone.
I like the imagery there of falling into a void, and weighing infinity. I would like to see what comes out of that if I were to pursue it further some time.