Why Do You Love?

Round the corner of the clock,when it's close to being grounded to the lowest numeric value it is capable of exhibiting,it gravitatingly wants to merge to its origin and shadow,and return home.

Kepler's Cosmic Geometric Series by Tallmadge Doyle

It happened that someday,some old souls gathered together and then it rained past our hearts.Then the fog came up,then the mountains awoke and little by little,our stories were surmised.Higher up,it still rains very often.And deep,in the deepest parts of our souls,we are all broken mirrors and kaleidoscopes and tattered canvases.Nothing cuts through us,nothing surpasses because specifically,we are those cuts and surpassable events.We have been for a long,long time.For a time that certainly is longer than ideas and birth and expansion.We form the happenings,we are the parts and the whole and the whole is but a part of a larger manifestation.In fact,the very concept of planes have no dimensions,the edges are not the dimensions.We must be a part of an infinite progression,something that goes on spiralling,and relativity is just the intermediation.Almost the kind of relationship between sorrow and poetry.The intensity of the weight inside your heart is what acts as a parameter of how well you can give birth to notions that penetrate through other,scattered souls.Beyond existentialism,beyond Nihilism - beyond all the edges,minute or definite that we have come up with till date,we are but spaces with an outline,we are not what we were destined to be,we are those who mother destiny and destiny caresses us in sleep.
The more you reach the person inside you,the more you open the doors to cognition (which,specifically lies above knowledge but gets better with it) - the more maddening it gets to this world,that lies externally but is there in some other form in the core.The more maddening it gets,the more you struggle,the more you create,you try to dream of sustenance and build a nest inside yourself.Sometimes,at some point in that spiral,yes somewhat like the graphical representation of geometric series,you meet a source of light which might invariably be a lamp or a window or a star,preferrably one that needs soothing,at that point I mentioned - which is millions and millions of planes and circumstances in itself,you let that source of light keep that nest warm and illuminated.The shadows and reflections and refractions gather around - the patterns they create subsequently turns into laughter and rainbows and amidst the war and corpses,I guess it is not a bad idea to define it as life.That source,somewhere,should be what love is.