Love lies in great places, being one to talk here, a confession would be to put it in perspective. But how often love traverses from dormantly inlaid specifications to subtle and then heart-throbbing, overbearing riddles can be a surprise. Come what may, love happens, if it is to and while grief accompanies most stages of its odyssey, it is alone an armor that is worth standing for.
Expected none of the above to happen to me, yet it being done in the most graceful of ways. Expected none of it to not only emerge yet it it being done on such testing platforms, in the oddest of hours; making it only purer, sweeter and more realistic. Often the concept attached to such devotion is one of disbelief, misgivings and wrongdoings, but it happens outside the chamber of a calligraphic signature. It sees no boundary to how the hands of a clock move. It may qualify for an abuse, yet using it so makes it no different--no more, no less.
How can an emotion so seraphic define a length of time, a location of sorts and societal boundaries. It is becoming for an affection to be questioned. After all, that is what tests it up and downhill. But while at it, it is also an unbiased form of purity. It can be wrong in the eyes of the world, yet so right. It can be subscribed to no ambit of governance under society, yet become a societal cult for all the same.
Love is the music the brings feelings to bloom. It may bury under the sands of time; but it perdurable to all throes of seizure. Although it is just as malignant to dubiety, but has the perseverance to endure paroxysm.
It is capable of going adrift. But while the rendition of it is sincere, it does not cross the great divide.
