Love is a river which flows in all directions. That which is endless, destined to be bound in finite beings. It is neither the means or end, cause nor effect. But rather like the flame and its opposite is only a lack thereof. To find it in its purest is to commit suicide, for the thin layer of who dissipates. And most mortals seek to snuff out the bearers of humility and wisdom for they fear the ultimate. Afraid and obsessed with their finite and vitam. Mere children, we will walk the tightrope of primitivism til our ephemeral existence fades.
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| — | My best friend wrote this and he is obviously quite talented! |
