“Displace yourself from what the skies know, to all your arms have carried. You know, in your heart, the human nature that demands to keep carrying. Beneath the Heavens, and we catch the rain.”
– Modern Romanticism
Love is, what humans aren’t. A divine element of the universe, unable to be totally fathomed by the human mind. To define it, is to know infinity.
Science explains love, through origin. The Big Bang. Anytime to explain the Big Bang on how something “forms from nothing”, is to realize how love works.
And we are strongest when we feel the other, not just ourselves. Beyond just ourselves, we love. To ourselves, we are fragile, vulnerable in all we wield and carry. Discarding such a load, is to let another wield it. To let them, because we are vulnerable. To love, and then to be loved is never to feel the self. To love, is always to feel who we are loving.
Blinded, only because we no longer see our own reflection. Ignorant and blissful, because we are no longer self-aware, through love. It is by limits, where we comprehend what hurts, within. It is then by the eternal, where we lose ourselves in the arms of another.
It is not love that can be limited, though limits us.
We are limited by love, though when loved, we are eternal in their minds. To die, is to be loved, forever. Love is origin, though reverts back to a realization for objective goodness, in the forgiveness to all that was the beloved’s opposite, upon death. We forgive the bad, to remember the good, within the origin love represents.
Origin. Of love. Limited by it, because we are not God. Imperfect, when full of truth. Perfect, when full of lies.
And, we are ever unable to limit love, through how we have no power over it. It limits us, through our inability to comprehend who remembers us, what loved ones recall us, upon our death.
Death is the only limit by what love, itself, cannot go through.
Modern Romanticism 