:: There's something calls...Love

As what Paolo Coelho wrote in his book, "there is a language that everyone understand by heart..something older than humanity much ancient than the desert..it is called love..". It is a language that we do not need to be taught. A language that exists for millions of years. A language that brings people together. A language that makes you feel all warmth and fuzzy or hate and revengeful. No matter how it started-paused-ended...it's love. And it's speaks. It laughs. It weeps and it cries.

We are all bound to love someone, somebody, somewhere. Far or near. Exist or no longer existed. Sometimes we have love, sometimes we are hoping for love. To love and to be loved is a beautiful nature of life. To give and receive.

How the stories goes are endless like the sun sets at the horizon. You see it. Its there. But you not know of its distance, its length, it's width. No straight ruler can measure as loves floats, love flies and loves dances. You just feel it.

For some of us who are lucky; it is like waking up to a beautiful sunny morning even when it's rainy and gloomy. Dances in your sleep. Twinkles in the dark. Singing whilst you speak. While some of us who are unlucky wishes otherwise.

Some love are long, sweet and steady. You plant it with positive thoughts. You feed it with endless laughter and conversation, warm and gentle touches. To see it grow steadily, you make compromises, sacrifices, promises. It grows and blooms. While some love are short and sweet and you wish it continues it's journey but it sheds before you can even see it blooms. And why?.. we ask ourselves. Perhaps we didn't feed love enough, they said. Perhaps it's not the right time. Perhaps it felt wrong or perhaps somewhat it does not belong? Hmmm..perhaps are all we can say.

But Love is A story. A novel. Once you picked it up, it is a start of a journey of hundreds of pages of poetries and sonnets. Only you can write about it. Only you can describe it. Only you feel it. The chapters. The plots. The excitement. The wants. The fights. You choose the character. The elements that makes your love story to die for. To celebrate for. To shout for. You control over it...and then perhaps, perhaps no longer exists.

Let thy heart bounces thy life
and let ye pen dances thy hand.
Let thy thoughts uplifts and flies
While thou write of love, starts till the end.

Stay in love my friends...