What in your looks reveals the thoughts that words can less transpire? What in your thoughts brings us closeness that distance I ignore? What in our closeness gives me warmth I long have yearned for? What in that warmth burns me with a passion I cannot resist? And what in contending against that passion that possesses me makes me more willing, yield to the spell that binds my soul without the least regret? What in all these makes life worth living?
It must be love…
What profit has a man from all his labor in which he toils under the sun?* The toil abrades the tool of steel, yet quickly thickens his hands of flesh; it beats his shoulders with loads of weights, but his bony blades it cannot break. The burning sun, though chafed his lips, cannot restrain a wife’s warm kiss.
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*Ecclesiastes 1:3, NKJV
Life is a journey, so they say, but where do I go? No one can number my steps. Where will it lead me? No one can tell. I walked for the hills, life took me to the plains. I encamped on the plains, it brought me by the waters, and showed the other side of the river. It then beacons at the other bank, restless as the openings of the road. As life breaks graves, so does the journey continue, never to cease.
