Amongst many things, love is a journey of enlightenment. Once awakened to a new love, a deeper love, one thinks of themselves as foolish for ever loving that original thing, whatever it may have been.
It may start off with an inanimate object, a food perhaps, or some childhood toy, till one day a truer form of love is felt. What we felt before is no longer defined as love and our interpretation of the world grows, becoming purer with each succession, yet at the same time, all the more hazy and confused.
Then, one day, when least expected, you think you find it; that ultimate state of purity, that salvation and yes, of course it is magical and beautiful but what they forget to tell you is that it inevitably dies. Whereas now, it does not end because a more vivacious spell has bound your spirit. It ends because it simply ran its course and leaves you in a harrowing void, hoping, praying that one day there will be more to come.
As we drown, we snatch at straws hoping that this love will not pass us by but the question is not how to tighten our grip but how to rise up and find life again as we plummet to the bottom of the ocean floor with the weight that sullens our hearts.