Love isn't brittle or broken or fragile beyond composition. Love is butterflies, flying high on a mission. The proper vision places them in descriptions that we often don't see are encrypted. To read what's written you must be gifted. Get it? or get left behind. Live in the time where the rhymes helped you find loves softer side. Hard pill to swallow, wallowing on hard pillows loosing sleep. Counting sheep with Lions breath. How many are left? How many more must jump that fence before you rest?