How can something so rare possibly be explained.
It can’t be.
That’s why we touch it with such gentleness, as it’s kept under lock and   key.
Given with such sincerity, as our vulnerability shadows us.
Is Love merely a sacrifice?
A piece of ourselves willingly given?
Love can not be so specific, where’s the magic in that?  
If I could count the reasons I loved you,  then I never truly loved you at all.