Love is a strange and inexplicable thing. It is many hued, catches the light of our lives and twists them, throwing tortured rays. It grows like a plant from the earthy soil and bursts forth in green abundance. It grasps us by the most painful nerves and pinches. It creeps up unawares and shocks. It blunts a new facet where none was. It gives and takes, hurts, forgives, beats us senseless. It walks like a ghost beside one. It whispers strange things and lays grey fingers upon faces. It sings music into the monotonous waves of time. It twines into your soul, twangs heartstrings and is a

parasite in your stomach.

I may just go on and on. I hate being human and in love and so far from my objects of love.