Love me long and love me true
Love much weaker without you
Love me only, just us two
Love me like you always do
The word “love” itself is love. It is an untamed force. When we try to control it, it destroys us. When we try to imprison it, it inslaves us. When we try to understand it, it leaves us feeling lost annd confused. Love is classified accordingly. Love to human : anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves. So, anyone who is in love gets sad when he thinks about his lover. It’s like stepping back inside a room, you have fond memories of one, you have not seen for a long time.
The moon has sailed the night and flown
The morn and sun has shone.
Then entered a gloomy evening
And somber lonely night.
Again the moon to make all bright.
The days has passed and so the night.
I see you in my every sight.
I miss you like nobody had ever.
I want you in my life forever.
Nobody knows my heart bleeding for love.
Nobody knows I’m dying for a hug.
I now knew a meaning of you.
I now want you, I miss you.
When I close my eyes, I see you.
When you Close yours, I feel you.
Where’re you gone? Where are you?
I now want you, I miss you.
Love is a temporary madness. It erupt like volcano and then subsides. And when it subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever past. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement. It is not the promulgation of promises of external passion. It is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day. It is not lying awake at night, imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body. No, don’t blush! I’m telling you some truths. This is just being “inlove” with any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away. And this is both an art and a fortunate accident.
Once, when a consort have asked her lover about their love. She have asked :
Will you still be loving me
When my hair is silvergray,
When my memory, unfortunately,
So slowly fades away?
Will you still be loving me
When my teeth are gone for good,
When no longer I am capable
Of pleasing like I could?
Will you still be loving me
When my chest can reach my knees,
When all I do is whine about how
You never fill my needs?
Will you still be loving me
When my skin looks like a prune,
When my eyes and ears, my dreams
And youth
No longer are in bloom?
Will you still be loving me
Okay, this was the questions in which the boy should answer. He kept his hands over her Until and staring at her eyes, he proudly answered :
I’ll love you until your hair
Starts to turn grey
Until your lips can’t express
The words you want to say!
Until your hands struggle
To open a pack,
Until age and sickness
Have bent your back!
I’ll love you until
Your knees begin to sway,
And you live in fear of
Falling each and every day!–
Until you lie in bed
And whine and moan
And suspicious accusations
Almost destroy my head!
By this, the love is to be done unconditionally without any definate reasons. A famous greek philosopher plato have quoted love in his symposium, “Love is that which lacks the object it seeks”. Love is to be seen very carefully without being reckless. Love hurts. Love hurts than nothing ever has hurt. There is no safe investment. To love all is to be vulnerable. Love everything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken.
If this heart was only made up of vigorous rock;
When the tears then arose to arise from my eyes,
Would not pain or neither would be hurt;
Would not weep or nor listen your lies.
When your tears arose to arise from your eyes.
Hey lord give me all pains; all those by.
I would take all those ease; I won’t cry,
Yet not broken by you Lord, with your life.
Still, I pray you Lord, for her precious life.
All this life’s like a injured kite,
As everytime would be flown by the time
And sometimes stuck by the bare trees
And sometime en dissolved in sea breeze
And everytime I would die even if alive.
I would hide my tears over whole life.
If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Warp it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in a casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket — safe, dark, motionless and airless– it will change. It will not be broken; it will become impenetrable, unbreakable and enlightened. The alternatives to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy is damnation.
It Feels alike the sky of dark clouds
Where whirlwind waltz, up high, to rain,
When love matures to old and wilder;
Relation start to break, when truth emerges a lie;
When dreams are broken and wings that fly.
Ofcourse, the love hurts, more like nothing,
As like as the sky, all wrapped in dark shroud.
