i know that this is love but i do not know why

perhaps life is an illusion

and i have lived too many lives

in the skins of paper and ink

but i have pondered time and time again

what is connection, attraction, desire, and admiration

they are painfully distinct

and they are the same

lived and relived

through every human through all of time

recorded, reimagined, reviled, and relished

in every instance unique

i do not know boundaries or language or truth

i do not distinguish fear nor heartache nor exhilaration

it is one as i am one

i approach death in every and all moments

equally as i approach life

breathing language i cannot begin to understand

sharing soul, earth, and body in ways only mortals can

i am yet broken

i am yet inspired

i am yet bound by those i love and am loved by

i cannot define the lines, rules, or meanings

i do not know what is fair, fear, or folly

i cannot fathom meaning beyond love

as concept, as truth, as immeasurable and immaterial

i do not know the meaning of what i write, only that i do

i do not know the meaning of love, only that i must

1.2.2025