Always threatening, bringing the jagged cliff of despair to the highest grassy meadow, the void hangs like a vulture over carrion. Existential emptiness without meaning, the void is an absence, a lacking, a primal and essential hunger gone unfulfilled. The vacuum leaves nothing but the horror of being, yet not-being; of knowing the I that once was, but is now nowhere. Without love, all ceases.
Victoriously simple in honesty and trust, love’s white shadow overwhelms the void with the warmth of crackling kindling under a rain-soaked bough. The spirit is whole; it knows all is possible.
The love of many is the need; the shared compassion that promises inner peace; a blending beyond this world. But it is the Love of the one, the fulfilled want; the passion, that brings happiness in the now. It is what anchors the soul against the illusion’s gauntlet of nightmarish insanity.
Reflected in equal heat as its award, reciprocity unlocks Love’s door, showering a twin beam of light into the void’s perpetuity of threatening emptiness. To Love for one day, even one hour would not be enough, but it would prove that there is a universal good in this world, even if it is as tenuous as a whisper, or a touch of the hair.