Without Love,

 

Without love, our hearts simply won’t beat.

Our feet won’t entrancingly dance, our lungs won't breathe, and our souls will never sing, only grieve.

 

Without love, our bodies won’t feel.

Our eyes won’t helplessly cry, our skin won’t passionately touch, and we, ourselves, will never heal.

 

Without love, our lives can not be lived.

Our stomachs, never getting the chance to conscientiously flutter with excitement, our fingers, never getting the chance to brush one another’s hair, and our fulfillment will infinitely be derived in such a way, only to be described as insensitive.

 

See, without love, we simply can not be.

We can’t survive the feeling of existing incoherently without one anothers’ soul connected to ours; in such a way that it can inconsiderably be the only thing to cause one's heart to continue another beat. Without love, I shall lie in despondency, and my life shall slowly whither away; until I am nothing. My heart beats twice, beats once, then, without love, beats no more.