DREAMS IN SCRIBBLES

Isn’t love a mysterious, strange thing?

So common, yet so rare.

It travels faster than light

Yet takes a lifetime to root deep.

Its treachery makes it raw and beautiful.

It builds lives and destroys them.

Is love more powerful than death itself?

Or is it death that saves love?

It hides in a mother’s embrace,

Speaks in a father’s laugh.

It heals without touch,

Yet inflicts the deepest pain.

Like a balloon, it soars into the sky,

One needle and it falls.

Still, we crave it,

We chase it.

For what are we without love?

Isn’t love a mysterious, strange thing?