What it is…
There is nothing complicated about what we feel…
It is love.
The purest of all things.
The zenith of emotions.
Heights of which so distant, that when one falls…
They tumble forever.

I see nothing complex about this.
Nothing ornate or intricate.
Nothing hidden or contrived.
Just simple existence in a perpetual state of perfection.

It mends the broken heart…
Creating bliss from loneliness.
There is no elaborate description or depiction that makes it any less or any more than what it is.
It is the soft whisper heard above the crowd.
The cool breeze in the midst of warm summer’s kiss.
The finds what’s been lost or missed
In time healing all that hurts.

More than impressive expressions of fanciful phrasing…
It is an opening of one’s soul to infinite possibilities both vast and frightening.
BREATHE
Beyond the scope of counted losses and expensive gains
It is the casting off of one’s fears in the name of holding something precious…
Something amazing.

It is love.

These words are not words.
They’re vibrations of sound becoming vacant utterances.
Prayerful promises of purpose.
Failing miserably in their intent to lend definition to something so ineffably unspeakable…
So entirely inexplicable.
These abstract scribbles serve only to convolute and confuse that which is already perfect in, and of itself.
Needing nothing more than a willing heart and open mind to be all that it already is.
It needs only to be recognized…
Seen for what it can be.

There is nothing complicated about this...
Nothing needing clarification or classification.
Nothing needing excuse, explanation, or quantification.
It …is… as eternal as hope
As limitless… as a child’s imagination.
It is the thing with which we all begin in its most pure and untainted state.
And that to which we return when all else has faded away.

It is why we laugh.
Why we sing.
Why we learn to say these silly thing.
It just is…
It is what remains of us when everything else loses all meaning and all design.
It is why… we learn… to fly
It is the one thing that never dies.
It is … why we even begin to try.

It…is… what it is…

The song to which we dance away the moments of our otherwise pointless lives.
It resonates without sound or symbol.
Provokes without preference or prejudice.

It simply is.


And to it we can only hope to add the very best of what we are.
And maybe one day…
Hold it in our hearts until it ignites the sky, turning us to stars…

And when we are gone…

That shining example remaining as an undying light…
Reminding the world that we knew it.

But more importantly…


That we gave it.
Because in the end…
That’s all there ever, really, truly was…

It is love.
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