And like satin and lace they blend, yet not without struggle
It's ok because holding hands in the dark is just as fullfilling as embracing in the light and the needle threads them together quite beautifully
It's the feeling sweeping over the lone individual lost in the building, through many levels of emptiness
One who looks down from the highest floor, to a grounded reality, and spots that one somebody from a crowd of everybody
And there are many who are exquisite (so very very pretty), but few who are enchanting
The difference between
"I'm doing fine, thank you."
"I'm doing fine, how are you?"
A silent force washing over unsuspecting on-lookers, a color that will not be recreated, something so undefined yet so remarkable that one can't find the means to cry in their longing
"My heart is broken."
"But you're happy?"
And love is unmistakable, even when shallow? To like someone and shrug your shoulder when rejected. To love someone and smile through the let downs. To love someone even with all their faults, you don't love the annoyances, but you love that person enough give up a bit of your comfort.
There are many levels of love.
Their love is underdeveloped.
So much so that it isn't there. Only its shadow, a strong manifestation that runs off the ground and stretches up to the sky, barely connected.
A thin thread of maybe's and should I's that are as promising and lovely as stained glass.
They are threaded realistically. They blend with heart.