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The heart has a reason which rationale knows not of. Love is or it ain’t, thin love ain’t love at all. It can hoard you from your own fate. It is a choice you make from moment to moment. It is not visor for it sees, but, it doesn’t mind. True love is not having as a gift or torturing trades for hearts are earned. Where the love is, there is verve. There’s a time for departure even if there’s no place to go. There is no remedy for love but to love more. It is like a cigar we willingly smoke; a temporary insanity, curable by marriage. Some might say love has many pains, but, celibacy has no treasure. There’s a magic in love. It never dies of natural fatality. It dies because we don’t know how to replenish its source. It dies of blindness, errors and betrayals. It dies of contemptuous and defilement. Love is a canvas furnished by nature and embellished by imagination. Just leap out and the net will surely materialize.