Maybe love doesn't exist. Maybe it's relative. Just like beauty. Maybe love is also in the eye of the beholder.
And love is in soo many forms and shapes. Like this Tumblr user posted:
"If you could go anywhere in the world, would it be a where or a whom?"
And people romanticize cemeteries and museums and love lurks there too. There's the hand made curvy pot in the gallery with a sign that says it's over 500 years old. Our ancestors made it. Maybe my great great great grandpa hated that stupid pot because it was supposed to be round, not curvy. But we love that pot. Why???
Honestly I don't know. And really I don't care. And we love weather. We love warm blankets and cold pillows. And we love coffee froth and soda bubbles. And we love novels and haikus. And we love our history and our future. And we love the rain and the sunshine.
Maybe Miguel Hernandez was right when she said:
"Like you, I can't sleep. Because I love too many things, and my heart ,dressed like the dead, overflows towards the universe"
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