& it's conventional to say that her eyes convey a message that only I can portray.. & as often as she strays, she finds a way to stay. & and the inconsistency of the consistency places me in a daze that implements her always getting her way. But it works you see; because... She, is love.. & she gets her way, but never gets away & that alone allows me to breathe day to day. & it's like the emolument from my heart covers the debts left by my past, & as I pray that it lasts it's revealed to me to adore what it presented & forget what was had. & that's where the ball is dropped, & time is stopped.. Catch the ball, then start the clock. You prevented the fall; she is love... & if she was a portrait constructed by my hands, I'd be more satisfied off the natural high of inhaling the possible existence of the lovely resemblance that the trance alone would be more than enough for me to get by. But you see, she is love.. & her pure laugh is powerful enough to trigger mine. & I've yet to understand.. I mean I'm a man, yet I find myself being a fan of love.. & I can't fathom it simply because I can't stand the scar left by the cut.. Or the thought process of being willing to jump in front of a bus just to prove that the pointless pain somehow is related to the amount of love... But it makes as much sense as you want it to. Because seriously, SHE IS LOVE. She could say "Jump!" & I'd say "How high?" but only out of respect of course.. Great one.... But you see I'd also be the first one there to wipe her eyes as she cries.. & find her answers as she comes up with "Why's?" She's an ocean of "what if's" & promises. She's a sky of dreams. She's a shoulder. She's a crutch. She's an ear. She made me dodge the ordinary... She is love. & when my heart beats for her, it doesn't play a song. There's no rhythm. It's an inconsistent, orthodox beat that we vibe too. & only we vibe too.. Only we.. There's no them in we. Only we understand us. So for us to exist, we is a must. & the only potential bust perhaps is an error in trust or a bucket of lust. But the thrill & the rush always seem to weigh too much. But never get in the way too much. They actually weigh just enough. She is love... & all we want is love's confusing joy & it's odd that I am controlled by an intangible object that treats me like a toy.. But she is love, & love is she. So the justification of the situation relies solely on how I allow love to love me. Or more so how I love love & how I love she. When I talk to myself about her I grin; senselessly & blatantly my cheeks rise forcing my eyes to become smaller. Genuine happiness is the end result of her merely entering my mind. Imagine the effect when I'm in her presence. But you don't get it.. Well I mean, you won't get it.. Because she is just as unexplainable as she ubiquitous.. She is love. & she's all I need. A cleanser to the air I breathe, a beautifier to the things I see, & an enhancer to the wisdom I eat. She is love. & she's just as lovely as is she honest. Indescribable. & I love that it's not always easy to finds words to describe her. There aren't enough.