Ideas create effortlessly, beautifully, as easily they fester and feed in flesh.
Spun from thoughts weave, intertwining to intention so rapidly almost impossible believing it not contagious. Suffocatingly diseased. Warmth of home infected perhaps only by the very presence, victim of your touch, the insatiable thirst for endings. Consumed whole by mind

As if will of human survival was a careless defeated program, disintegrating towards unattainable abstract. The idea to man make this natural instinct not unlike attempts of creating new life only with bare hands.

You are that of neverending rainfall that's falling and falling over. descending not with inherent direction or desire to be anything greater, other than to fall.

To grasp someone is to touch there soul, leave fingerprints in there mind and in return hold onto you for dear life, in return they intertwine with the depths of yourself. To search there eyes for feelings you already know
regain, rejuvenate, learn to grow, not just by yourself but with this person tangled in your heart flowing in the blood you own. You grow twice over. You see life more than once
not just through eyes but the vision of a lover.