Love is not only holding, love is also letting go. It’s the distance between those two souls longing for more than an ending. Love is also being still while the other moves along freely.
Love cannot be just one type… love is oh so many. It’s that aching feeling for more, when you are not able to see it ever grow. Letting go… cutting the chords of that infinite string that you continued to hold. By faith, by a touch, by a feeling.
The everlasting feeling that there would be no ending… that love meant to continue a story of magic, tragedy, sadness and blissfulness. But love, can’t be held; it must be like the wind: free, overwhelming, calming… but never contained.
It’s a storm in which you want and need to be in. It can’t be. Yes it is! Rhythmic monotony, a metaphor, a dichotomy. Not ever perfect, sometimes its perfection lies in the mediocrity of everything that was always wrong.
Love is a goodbye that imagines a continuous train ride to a forever hello. Not knowing what is love, that’s love.