What drives a person to love,
or so they call it?
What drives a person to madness
that clouds blur the line between
reality and fiction?
What drives a person to craziness
to the point that every hope
becomes desperation?
Is it the sincerity of feelings
harbored for years,
rehearsed and directed;
shared among peers,
or is it the vile desire
for personal satisfaction,
unanswered by simple
words of attraction?
What, in the name of love,
starts from point A to point B?

The answer?
Nothing
because what is perceive
by the majority
is that love starts from a point
towards a definite
line of singularity.
But love isn't a trip;
it's a journey
to the unknown realm
of one's humanity.
It soars through the skies,
and navigates the seas;
and changes every time,
every season, like a tree
that blooms, grows and dies,
but once it gains its ground,
love is yet another journey
towards the profound.
It is never about the person
to whom one expresses oneself
and it is never about the person
expressing oneself.
It's never about the person,
but the experience to it.
It's about growth and commitment
with the world in it.
It is the meals everyday,
not the food.
It is not a street;
it's a neighborhood.
It's not just the ground,
but it's also the air.
It's supposed to be found
here and everywhere.

Love,
goes from point A to point B,
then it moves to C, D, and also E,
and even after love goes to Z,
there will always be a point A,
where one can restart and see,
all the points one came across
which changed one's humanity.

Love,
never stops,
it's only the person that does,
for love is a force of nature
that shifts reality;
it never fails and it never will,
it's only the person
which fails to see,
the supposed change love can bring
to one's capacity
to realize the reality
bounded by the ways of love.

Love,
is never some thing;
it is something that isn't
material nor is it a feeling.

Love,
is an entirety of being
towards the world
one is living,
for love isn't just romantic,
platonic, nor storge-ic;
it is never just the term,
never just actions,
nor it is just feelings,
nor it is just efforts,
nor it is just confessions,
nor it is just gifts,
nor it is just commitments.

Love,
is everything at once
after everything starts to make sense.

“the simplest definition of our learning to count to infinity”

wrote those words
to a stranger in pain, awful pain,
asking him to count his blessings

now awful pain
no stranger to me

a pain four decades long,
that the surgeon promised was fully excised.

but today was triggered,
chest pain dagger ingredient emergency room

so I am counting for,
but not to,
counting on

infinity

when the wounding cannot be recalled,
only a minor scar to struggle from wonder whence
came it from

which is the definition of reaching the
infinity place,
where finite comes to rest

Done
I am finished
Putting maximum effort
Into something that my heart is so minimally invested in