How is it that love can simultaneously be the most potent, reality changing, existence affirming "force," yet so often be misguided, hollow, ephemeral, and that which has the capacity to cause or receive the greatest suffering all in one breath? How can something so good, only conceptually touched upon in its purest form, be so corrupt and twisted? How can it simultaneously be more real then the floor I sit on, yet be as intangible as the shadow of a lifting fog?
... And why can't we turn it all off when we so desperately need a breath?
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