On Love

 

I cannot describe it any more than what it is to breathe,

Except that I must have it.

 

 

I cannot write down its meaning,

But know what it feels like,

  

I cannot determine its limits,

Because it has none.

 

I cannot recognize its shape,

Only by its absence or presence.

 

All I truly know about it is its author.

And His presence in my life.

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