Love is a strange four letter word for a cynic, an anchor for a lost soul and a light for a lonely heart. In its greatness and in its greed it    has made fools of men and goddesses of girls. It may be spectacularly splendid when found pure in the heart. It may be cunning and calice when used as a tool. It is powerful and all consuming when thrust upon us, leaving us wounded statistics.

Its image is portrayed in glossy mags and Bible verses, its virtues sung in songs. Its dangers lamented in books and its heroines lauded as queens. Love holds us captive from conception till death. Love brings us into this world and leads us by the hand out of it. Love is the lamp which illuminates secret parts of our soul. Love is the painful needle suturing the broken heart. Love is Biblical, Bhuddist, Islamic and Archaic. It is spiritual, commercial and often times cruel.

We breathe to believe in it, we spend and lie to get it. We deeply want it yet flounder in the mere shallows of it. We have no patience for it and do not understand it. Love is the umbilical cord which binds us to Mother Universe. Love is the sword that severs old beliefs. Love is the balm to soothe the wound. Love is the scar to hide. Love is the courage to fight again. Love is the trophy which causes elation and dread.

Is it?

Perhaps it is simply the catalyst which causes our blood to flow and our hearts to beat.

Merely the air in our lungs, not an advertising campaign.

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