Love is the most important universe for the star.
For the simplest sake of finding himself least important, least to be recognized as weak, a man will, or should, send himself into a whirlwind to protect the endangered.
For love’s sake, beauty is contented to show itself.
A star, like the many of them, is most for the loyal, when the universe can see one star as different from the others, and fall in love with it.
A man will, or should, fall in love with his choice.
Love has a breath, and it is always upon stone. His hardness is a seed, for a man always makes it a habit to retract into himself, in moments he cannot understand.
Raise yourself to see the stars, as a human, and you will see so many to lose count. Raise yourself to see the stars, as something with God’s heart, and you will see one, among the numerous.
Love does not lose, so long as love is attached, from within.
Why does a man hold a craving for success? Why is it, that in our modern world, some may wonder on this? It is so, that a man only ever succeeds in trivial matters, because he has not fallen in true love. In true love, he will drop all meager things he once thought were important, for the oneness that he now finds most important.
Our man, Alessio Neil, is one such man, though has found himself still in his early years, blocked before a blockade in his existence.
All things discovered in his early time upon Earth, seem only wanted to make an excuse for their importance.
Love was once felt, for him. Though, it had been the case, that love has left him. By this, we mean not the person to love, but the feeling, itself. It is guessed by typical people, of a man’s pain, that he will not show it to anyone besides those he chooses. Such a sight for expressed pain, may indeed be his reflection. Before a mirror, a man of a sorry past, is lost to his reflection. A road for his life, that is, and there is only darkness in the expression he shows through the mirror’s glass.
Alessio has many reflections, though he is not at the age to dive deep into them and be forced to recollect his past.
A woman perhaps will, during her times of knowing her tragedies, commit to the miserable task of picking up the broken pieces of her heart, and placing them in order, with no one’s aid.
Alessio’s reflection is upon a heap of existence, is upon a tide of yesterdays that seem to flow into the tomorrow with as much pressure, as has always been recognized. Like love was never present to accompany him on the paths he’s traveled.
Like love was never there to send the right sort of sickness into him.
Like never a woman could be there to show him the proper dosage of color, inject that into his veins, so that his mind could come to life. Without the continuous dwellings, without the continuous needless reflections on the things never done and never understood, without the employment of his urges on agonies not felt, because he was merely a child, at the time, and all felt alien.
Like nothing to take a man’s mind away from black and white, into the green lands and blue waters of Earth, for all that a woman has birthed.
He made her, and her gratitude comes from what she appears. A woman holds onto the desire for gratitude, in the sake of her own beauty.
Like love that can only hold hands with another emptiness, in the universe, and never a star was present.
Does such an emptiness exist, even in death?