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"And you don't hear this song I guess you'll never know that"

i know its quite impossible for this "message" to reach you, i guess a 0.01 probability. but maybe, just maybe. then you will understand everything.

-blackstreet

LOVE is..

Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this was love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement. It is not promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being inlove which any of us can convince ourselves we are.

Love itself, is what left over being inlove has burned away, and this, both an art and a fortunate accident. It is a mystery why we fall in love. It is a mystery how it happens. It is a mystery when it comes. It is a mystery why some love grows while some love fails. You can analyze this mystery and look for reasons and causes, but you will never do anymore than take the life out of the experience.

Love is more than the sum of interests and attractions and commonalities that two people share. And just as life itself is a gift that comes and goes in its own time, so too, the coming of love must be taken as an unfathomable gift that cannot be questioned in its ways. Remember that you don't CHOOSE love, LOVE chooses YOU. All you can really do is accept it for all its mystery when it comes to your life. Love has its time, its own season, its own reason for coming and going. You cannot bribe it or coerce, or reason it into staying. You can only embrace it when it arrives and give it when it comes to you. But if it chooses to leave from your heart, there is nothing you can do and there is nothing you should do. Love has always been and will always be a mystery.

The most wonderful of all things in life is the discovery of another human being with whom one's relationship has a growing depth, beauty and joy as the years increase. This inner progressiveness of love between two human beings is a most marvelous thing; it can't be found by looking for it or by passionately wishing for it. It is a sort of divine accident, and the most wonderful of all things in life, love means to commit oneself without guarantee, to give oneself completely in the hope that our love will produce love in the loved person.

Love is an act of faith, and whoever is of little faith is also of little love. You came to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly. Love is the emblem of eternity: it confounds all notion of time: effaces all memories of a beginning, all fears of an end. Love is like a friendship caught in fire; in the beginning of a flame, very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. As love grows older, our hearts mature and our love becomes as coals; deep-burning and unquenchable. Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it, everybody seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who will do cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, never.. never forget it. Love feels no burden, regards not labors, strives toward more than it attains, argues not of impossibility, since it believes that it may and can do all things. Therefore it avails for all things, and fulfills and accomplishes much where one not a lover falls and lies helpless. True love is like ghosts, which everybody talks about and few have seen. Love doesn't sit there like a stone, it has to be made, like bread: remade all the time, made new. You will never know true happiness until you have truly loved, and you will never understand what pain really is until your lost in it or you have lost it.

Love is a hidden fire, a pleasant sore, a delicious poison, a delectable pain, an agreeable torment, a sweet and throbbing wound, a gentle death. Life has taught us that love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking outward together in the same direction. Love is a symbol of eternity. It wipes out all sense of time, destroying all memories of a beginning and fears of an end. Love is a sweet tyranny, because the lover endure his torments willingly. Love never reasons but profusely gives, like a thoughtless prodigal, its all, and trembles lest it has done too little. Love withers under constraints: its very essence is liberty: it is compatible neither with obedience, jealousy nor fear. It is there most pure, perfect, unlimited where its votaries livi in confidence, equality and unreserve.

To sum it up, Love is complicated..