It’s the cliché that becomes cliché—the pain, the hurt, the ache that smothers your entire soul, to the point where it becomes a poison, flowing throughout every vein that you so helplessly depend on to survive. I think there’s a reason that God didn’t give us the right words to describe Love. Perhaps because it forces us to go out and discover it for ourselves, so somehow, one day, we can write our own books, with the tenuous words that we don’t even know exist. But there is a language out there, a language that all humans understand, between every longitude to every latitude that circles the globe. For at the core humans all share the same things; two eyes, two ears, a nose, a mouth, legs, arms, lungs, to the very microscopic cells that lay the foundation for our inimitable kind. But we also all share one particularly peculiar portentous thing:
A heart.                                                                  ­                                                                 ­                            
And for every beat it beats, between every pump of blood that keeps our bodies alive, are the words being spoken that we cannot, and will never understand.
                                                                                                                                                                       *(j.j)