Love is never found. It finds us. We are its prey. We will ourselves to be caught, helpless in its rapture. To be enslaved and to do all that it takes to remain there, no matter the heartache, the pain, the gamble, the cost. For to be in Love, is everything. To Loves own pleasure, we are but toys, to play with so long as we are willing or able to be all that it wants us to be. We long for the fire Love brings. We dare it to flare so bright, so uncontrollable, so undeniable, each and every time we gaze upon the one we are joined with in Loves embrace. Yet for some, the fire never truly breathes, the embers, cold forever too soon after life betrothed has begun. For others, Love is a rite of passage, a task, an expectation, a chore. And for the chosen few, Love leaves them entwined forever, a forgotten quest in its search for others to play its heart-breaking game. Andy Gabriel-Powell
