Love

[sweetnpetite]

The Meaning of Love DONALD DEMARCO


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No other word in our language is more abused, misused, and confused than the word "love." Yet, its essential meaning is not difficult to understand. The weight of the entire Christian tradition tells us, quite simply, that love is a tendency toward the real.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------



In his Treatise on the Love of God, St. Francis de Sales expresses it more poetically when he states, "Love is the movement, effusion, and advancement of the heart toward the good."
Love overcomes separation and intimately unites us with reality. In its interpersonal expression, it affirms the reality of the beloved, that is to say, his or her truth, goodness, and desirability. "Love is not blind," G. K. Chesterton remarks in Orthodoxy. "That is the last thing it is. Love is bound; and the more it is bound, the less it is blind." Love is bound to the reality of the beloved, a reality that is fundamentally true, good, and desirable. Love does not build castles in the air, but establishes sturdy foundations.

Journey to the Center of the Heart
In this regard, it is easy to recognize love and to distinguish it from its legion of counterfeits. Love passes through three stages. Love is attentive, appreciative, and affectionate. By paying attention we focus on the truth of the other person. We listen with love as we tune in to the truth of the other, the truth that, however clumsily, the other is trying to express. By showing appreciation we indicate that we value the other as fundamentally good. Love shows appreciation by affirming the goodness of the other. Affection is love expressing itself by rejoicing in the desirability of the other. Gifts, touches, smiles, sacrifices, and favors are among the many ways in which love expresses its affection and affirms the desirability of the other. It crowns its recognition of the other's truth and goodness.

The opposite of love is not hate, but apathy. No one wants to be ignored, disregarded, or neglected-the polar opposites of receiving attention, appreciation, and affection. People want their truth to be heard, their goodness to be cherished, and their desirability to be felt. They want their reality affirmed, honored, and embraced. They want to be loved. And just as all people want to be loved, all people want to express love.

Getting to Know You

The progression from attention to appreciation to affection is important. Wisdom always places things in the right order. This order represents the proper development of love. We are not showing love if we express affection for someone whose truth and goodness are unknown to us. Love begins with knowledge of the other. Ubi amor, ibi oculus (wherever there is love, there is knowledge). This knowledge uncovers the truth and the goodness of the other. Affection without personal knowledge does not serve the other, but is more likely to be an act of impetuosity.

Love, therefore, must be patient as it advances from attention to appreciation to affection. Love takes time. "Love at first sight" is less likely than "like at first look." When we sense that we like another person, we should be patient and temperate enough to get to know the truth and appreciate the good of that person so that our affection will be founded on something real.

Virtual Reality

Love does justice to the beloved and does not ascribe to the beloved values that do not exist. Love is not a romantic projection or a tantalizing illusion. It is the affirmation and promotion of the real person who is the recipient and the beneficiary of our love.

Therefore, love embraces a variety of virtues. These include not only patience, temperance, and justice, but also hope, courage, and fidelity. The more virtues we have, the better prepared we are to love. Love is the form of all virtues, and virtues are the indispensable conduits of love.

The meaning of love is simple enough not to elude us; but the simplicity of its meaning does not imply any frequency of its occurrence. We should be artful when it comes to loving and circumspect when it comes to recognizing that we are loved. We all need to love and to be loved, but we should not settle for any of its imposters.


the link

 

[ChilledVodka III]

The Meaning of Love DONALD DEMARCO


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
No other word in our language is more abused, misused, and confused than the word "love." Yet, its essential meaning is not difficult to understand. The weight of the entire Christian tradition tells us, quite simply, that love is a tendency toward the real.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------



In his Treatise on the Love of God, St. Francis de Sales expresses it more poetically when he states, "Love is the movement, effusion, and advancement of the heart toward the good."
Love overcomes separation and intimately unites us with reality. In its interpersonal expression, it affirms the reality of the beloved, that is to say, his or her truth, goodness, and desirability. "Love is not blind," G. K. Chesterton remarks in Orthodoxy. "That is the last thing it is. Love is bound; and the more it is bound, the less it is blind." Love is bound to the reality of the beloved, a reality that is fundamentally true, good, and desirable. Love does not build castles in the air, but establishes sturdy foundations.

Journey to the Center of the Heart
In this regard, it is easy to recognize love and to distinguish it from its legion of counterfeits. Love passes through three stages. Love is attentive, appreciative, and affectionate. By paying attention we focus on the truth of the other person. We listen with love as we tune in to the truth of the other, the truth that, however clumsily, the other is trying to express. By showing appreciation we indicate that we value the other as fundamentally good. Love shows appreciation by affirming the goodness of the other. Affection is love expressing itself by rejoicing in the desirability of the other. Gifts, touches, smiles, sacrifices, and favors are among the many ways in which love expresses its affection and affirms the desirability of the other. It crowns its recognition of the other's truth and goodness.

The opposite of love is not hate, but apathy. No one wants to be ignored, disregarded, or neglected-the polar opposites of receiving attention, appreciation, and affection. People want their truth to be heard, their goodness to be cherished, and their desirability to be felt. They want their reality affirmed, honored, and embraced. They want to be loved. And just as all people want to be loved, all people want to express love.

Getting to Know You

The progression from attention to appreciation to affection is important. Wisdom always places things in the right order. This order represents the proper development of love. We are not showing love if we express affection for someone whose truth and goodness are unknown to us. Love begins with knowledge of the other. Ubi amor, ibi oculus (wherever there is love, there is knowledge). This knowledge uncovers the truth and the goodness of the other. Affection without personal knowledge does not serve the other, but is more likely to be an act of impetuosity.

Love, therefore, must be patient as it advances from attention to appreciation to affection. Love takes time. "Love at first sight" is less likely than "like at first look." When we sense that we like another person, we should be patient and temperate enough to get to know the truth and appreciate the good of that person so that our affection will be founded on something real.

Virtual Reality

Love does justice to the beloved and does not ascribe to the beloved values that do not exist. Love is not a romantic projection or a tantalizing illusion. It is the affirmation and promotion of the real person who is the recipient and the beneficiary of our love.

Therefore, love embraces a variety of virtues. These include not only patience, temperance, and justice, but also hope, courage, and fidelity. The more virtues we have, the better prepared we are to love. Love is the form of all virtues, and virtues are the indispensable conduits of love.

The meaning of love is simple enough not to elude us; but the simplicity of its meaning does not imply any frequency of its occurrence. We should be artful when it comes to loving and circumspect when it comes to recognizing that we are loved. We all need to love and to be loved, but we should not settle for any of its imposters.


the link

my muse are the nature and hank dogs. Last night I froze as I saw the world turn and the stars and I heard half smile through the wind of the trees below me on the hill and I learnt and I learnt.

I am going to print off my book and send it to them. We all make fools of ourselves over and over again. Its that I choose to is what puzzles me

check out the Hank Dogs, they are ace. I think of strange houses in normal towns when I listen to them.

If you live in london, they run the easycome acoustic night. I am too shy to go, and I don't live in London

Not the story. I suppose I need to

Not the story. I suppose I need to change this so that the story has its own section, but it's so tedious to categorise. If you;re confused, normally things look better than they really are. Hey, hello to the publisher's domains who've been mailing. It was a joke right turbi? Hope my emails back weren't too rude, but you know, I just, don’t know. How did you set the mailboxes up

So,


This morning, I was trying to get shot.



I walked, thrilled and fucked through a wood in, oh, let's not be tedious. Let's say, nearby. It was between moorland and rich farmland where rich farmers shot things at the weekend. They were shooting something and I wanted it to be me. Oh, how I wanted.



I had thin clothes on in anticipation and the cold kissed my skin dead kisses cold in welcome.

I could hear the falling pellets from the shotguns as they fell through the empty branches and the golden leaves hanging around like the old losers in a disco. I’ve heard them before. They sound like fake rain, or a fake orgasm, quick and sort off, already looking for the next bang.

I was going to walk to hide from the beaters and then walk to the top of the hill and the edge of the wood and hope one of the businessmen with their shotgun would mistake me for natural and shoot me dead. No more blog entries. No more cash withdrawals, direct debits continuing regardless. I was hoping to have a second before I died so that I could gather my self together. Maybe God would say “there there”, bored with half his mind on the other millions who died that second.





It got so tedious. The thing is, I am so shy. If I fucked it up, they’d just say “clear orf” or take my false name down for trespassing (how can someone trespass on death?)



Couldn’t they just shoot me dead, maim me, let me watch my blood bubble safe in the knowledge it was almost over?

Maybe God had a hangover. I bet he tries to get sleep, and all these prayers and questions and entreatments to “go on then, prove yourseld” and promises and “I swear, right”s irritate him like rings on the doorbells and rings on the telephones do in cheap houses and council estates. All he probably wants is a bit of fucking piece and quiet.



God got bored with me a long, long time ago. Before even I did.



No one shot me. I went back to the car and drove with my eyes shut on the motoroway on the way home. But I kept opening them.



No one ever gets any peace around here.
change this so that the story has its own section, but it's so tedious to categorise. If you;re confused, normally things look better than they really are. Hey, hello to the publisher's domains who've been mailing. It was a joke right turbi. Hope my emails back weren't to sarky. How did you set the mailboxes up

This morning, I was trying to get shot. I walked, thrilled and fucked through a wood in, oh, let's not be tedious. Let's say, nearby.

I could hear the falling pellets from the shotguns as they fell through the empty branches and the golden leaves hanging around like the old losers in a disco.

I was going to walk to hide from the beaters and then walk to the top of the hill and the edge of the wood and hope one of the businessmen with their shotgun would mistake me for natural and shoot me dead. No more blog entries. No more cash withdrawls, direct debits continuing regardless. I was hoping to have a second before I died so that I could gather my self together. Maybe God would

Maybe God had a hangover.

I work in a shitty city. (buses, a choice of coffee shops, a choice of fast food )

To compensate, I have a pictorial wallpaper on my Windows XP PC, and I have a collection of maps at home. Sometimes I get them all out and look at the names of the villages and hills and woods and lakes. I think about where I would like to disappear to.

This morning, a flock of geese flew over the city, and I thought it sounded like a row of car alarms going off.

I could be living on a hill, right now. Is death from exposure really than going blind from perpetual darkness?

It all comes down to money, and is so, so tedious.

I've been thinking about Alcho-ho hol. I stopped drinking but now I have started again. There just doesn’t seem to be any point not to. Worrying about one big thing is better than worrying about ten little things. The liquid washes them all away. I am obsessed with the click that guy goes on about in Cat on a Hot tin Roof. Alcohol is like any liquid; it erodes. What starts off as solid, is broken down and broken down until it is sand which can’t be put back together.

I was so sure, once, for a little while. But now I am just like sand, shifting. The alcohol has run ridges and gulleys in me, and I shift around it. I can never be put back, I just can’t get any worse. If it goes on, though, there will be nothing left to click. Maybe they can take me and pour me down the drain and I can go into the sewer and then as silage onto someone’s farm. Maybe that’s how I’ll end up on my little hill on a map somewhere.

I was on the top of a hill in the hills and I was walking down the road to my car. i was walking in the middle of the road, in case a speeding car should speed into me. I was trying to convince myself that it might happen, that I might not hear the noise of the revving engine because of the noise of the nature I was listening to so intently. I know that this state of mind is unhealthy - it's not going to happen and it just will make me feel negative and depressed. There was so much beauty in the world.

I was going to be at work for the rest of the week, and so wouldn't be able to see the countryside again for a while. I used to go out at night, but I stopped that. I used to think about learning to navigate using the sky, I used to think that would be a good skill, but I don't anymore. I've pretty much stopped sleeping, too. (it's not too much fun, but, hey)

I met a person coming the other way. People from the city dress up to go to the Country. Walkers are managers who want to sack me most days. They put on their carefully dirtied boots (as dirty and authentic as a pre-recorded telephone sex line) and they carry a rucksack with supplies and a mobile and a flask. Some have wooden walking sticks, the beginners have the expensive plastic ones. They wear waterproofs and those things which go over your boots and trousers. Puttees I think they might be called. (Isn't the word "puttee" a fine word?). Normally, they walk in pairs, and both will say hello or good morning. It really pisses me off because you have to say a "Hello" to the first and then to the second in a sort of "hey, I know I've just said this and you can see from my expression and hear from my tone of voice that I feel a bit daft doing this again, but isn't it beautiful here, can't we ignore protocol and just say a fucking nother hello eh" way, I have to say "hello" or "Hi" or just a nod again

You can tell straight away that they're fakers.

This person was dressed in old clothes, like they had had to move out of a good home a while ago in a hurry, and hadn't had a chance to go back and wash and clean their clothes since. They kind of smelt too. I've learnt to recognise the smell. It's the smell of a night which is seeping out poisoned into the day.

This person and I spoke. (I should say, I never speak to people. Work sent me to a counsellor and I pissed her off by just asking questions back to her. In the end she just sighed and said there was nothing they could do to help me as I wouldn't "Help myself"). It was really banal, you know? Nothing like I expected.

Half way through the conversation, I realised I was talking to God. I was pretty cool about it, all in all. I mean, I knew God hated me and everything, but they were being kind of friendly, so it was OK. I thought about asking about "the future" but I betted God gets bored of being asked about that all the time.



Kind of the way a one hit wonder would when they sang in small concert venues, every night hearing the audience shout for that one same song.

We walked down the rest of the hill together. I was still, defiantly, in the middle of the road, and God didn't tell me any truths. The person God was in said they walked all day every day. That was all they cared about. They knew every hill and wood and field and animal for 38 miles around. (though the city was closer than that). I've never seen a person look so damaged and yet so...I don't know...content. Suited to the hills and the paths they were walking.



I wanted to go home with the person and just live with them. maybe I could clean while they drank. I wouldn't be a pain. I would be so quiet like I normally am, that they wouldn't even know I was there. If I did nothing, they would not be able to hate me for anything. Mind you, god hates me for what I don’t do, as well as what I do. So.



I watched as they went home. It was basically a tumbling down shack with weed all over it. There was a picture of a witch on the front and something that said this person was a white witch. I wish I could just go and knock on their door and never, ever come back to the city. I wonder if they know they’re god. I bet they don’t. It’s raining now, so they will be wet somewhere, all alone.

D'abord, je tiens à rectifier une erreur (ou un mensonge involontaire) écrite sur ma précédente note. Il n'y avait pas que mon huile de coude, mais aussi celle de H qui a tenu à ce que je le précise, car j'admets qu'il a beaucoup participé à la rénovation de ma moquette. Je lui ai en plus refilé l'url de mon blog ce soir-même, j'aurais du être plus consciencieuse à son égard.

Il y avait de la cire parce qu'il y avait des jolies bougies que ma chérie-chou m'avait offertes l'après-midi même. Elles servaient à allumer clopes et autres choses en tout genre, le problème étant qu'une fois bourré, ou défoncé, la dextérité s'évapore aussi vite qu'une bouteille d'alcool ouverte, dans le ventre des amateurs et la cire s'étale sur la moquette.

On en avait convenu que la prochaine fois, il faudrait que je mette une superbe toile cirée fifties, quelque chose de très kitch — et inferno telegraph to the hype — avec des grosses fleurs marron et oranges, comme le bon goût nous le dicterait si bien. Au moins, ça me fera un travail en moins que de la plier en quatre et la ranger en bas de mon placard.

Je suis contente car j'ai eu plein d’agréables échos concernant ma soirée, tous ces gens si différents se sont plu, voir plus car affinités. Jolie alchimie, ou savoureuse potion à verser une seconde fois, à l'occasion. Au nouvel an par exemple.

[Le titre vient d’être inventé par mon imagination, il y a à peu près une heure, alors que j’étais perdue entre deux heures d’ennui complet, à ne rien pouvoir faire, l’œil penché vers la fenêtre, le sourire malgré tout aux lèvres]

d'une soirée mouvementée,
c'est de se rendre compte qu'il n'y a presque plus de tâches sur la moquette, la cire, le whisky, les bières, le sirop, les cendres, sont parties grâce à mon huile de coude, mon fer à repasser, et mon sopalin.


Ravie que ce mélange se soit homogénéisé. Début et fin de soirée différents, mais sympathique toutefois.
Peu de sommeil, c'est juste ça.

Avec ma chérie-chou, qui m'a gâtée parce qu'elle voulait me fêter mon anniversaire. J'étais surprise car il est franchement passé mon anniversaire, mais ça a été encore plus agréable. Il me fait plaisir de recevoir des petites choses toutes belles sans vraiment de raisons, juste parce qu'on a pensé à moi. Alors on se pause dans un café après quelques courses, et la décoration est vraiment amusante. J'y suis déjà allée, mais là j'ai analysé et j'ai envie de leur piquer plein d'idées, notamment les ampoules pendues à une tringle à rideau, retranscrit à l'écrit, ça n'a l'air de rien, mais c'est top design ! Ils ont de très anciens canapés fleuris, tout comme j'aime, un peu délavés, usés, déchirés, mais rien de vraiment grave. Ils sont confortables, les yeux sont bien reposés, c'est l'essentiel !

Elle doit partir et moi aussi, car il faut que je range un peu chez moi pour ce soir, une petite soirée tranquille entre amis tranquilles. Rien de transcendant, sans artifices ni feu, parfait. Quelques courses à monop, échange de monnaie avec G, rendez vous de 8 à 10 heures.

Elle est vraiment chouette ma chérie-chou, tout comme ma zaz, ma gé, et piquette (même si ce soir elle est malheureuse) . Elles sont toutes drôles, et ça, c’est le must. La cerise sur le gâteau, l’asperge sur son lit de sauce groseille, le meringue nappée de chocolat, que des choses bonnes et savoureuses quoi…

Putain j’ai mal, je vous jure que c’est vrai. Pourtant, ce n’est pas si important, je ne pensais pas que il m’aurait tant tenu à cœur.
Il en aura fallu si peu pour tomber de si haut. C’est très blessant de reconnaître sa propre erreur. Il fait mal, celui qui m’as donné toutes ces illusions. Je n’ai pourtant toujours pas envie, que ce soit des illusions.

Est-ce parce que l’on croit savoir apprécier, faire confiance, admirer une personne qui finalement n’en vaux pas la peine ; Est-ce ce tout petit acte qui peut démontrer et confirmer un très gros défaut ; Là, je doute. On se dit qu’on a eu tort de se tromper, de ne pas voir les choses en face. On regrette. Directement, on s’en veux de regretter.

On se souvient d’avoir tant parlé, confié, ri, avec cette personne.
On sait qu’on l’aime encore, car on l’a beaucoup appréciée. Alors on se remémore un maximum de choses, des belles choses, des belles conversations, de jolis sourires, d’interminables rires, des après-midi, des soirées, toutes ensoleillées, même les nuits.

On s’efforce d’y croire encore, au repentir. Ce serait si beau.
On n’en n’est pas maître, des actes de celui qu’on aura tant apprécié.

On aurait tellement voulu y croire, à cette amitié, la voir comme nos yeux la voyait. Alors on oublie, à contrecœur. On aimerait lui dire. On se dit que se tromper arrive à chacun, qu’il faut pardonner. Je me dis que j’en suis capable. On se dit que rien n’est définitif, même la bêtise.
C’est admettre l’évolution. Car chacun évolue, malheureusement pas toujours vers la bonne voie. Mais on peut encore changer de voie. Il y a toujours des alternatives.

Cette personne fait partie de celles qui ne méritent pas de posséder un jour trop de pouvoir, au risque qu’elles en abusent.

A-t-on la modestie de reconnaître nos défauts ? L’humilité de vouloir les admettre. Je serais encore plus triste si la réponse était non.

Ce dont je suis presque sûr désormais, je me suis faite prendre pour une conne. Youpi

Sachant que les trois quart de mes notes (j'exagère toujours un peu lorsqu'il s'agit de statistiques) sont des annonces.

Là, je demande aux genre s'ils veulent bien m'offrir sur le site d'émily les articles suivant :


ils font partit des articles que je ne peux pas m'offrir car ils sont trop onéreux, et qui seraient d'amusants accessoires pour mes tenues tedances, lorsque j'aurai envie d'être hype. En plus, il parait qu'à Paris elle est au top de la classe emily, et je me rends à Paris le 17 décembre. Donc pour des cadeaux pré-noël, ce serait très gentil.

Même si être hype, classe, et tendance ça m'excite pas, le fait de jouer avec ça, m'excite.

 

[sweetnpetite]

I thought it deserved a more thoughtful reply.

 

[purple_angel]

I thought it deserved a more thoughtful reply.

Love is love - it is not logical or plausible - it is that what is - love -and it will destroy or make you

 

[sweetnpetite]

Love is love - it is not logical or plausible - it is that what is - love -and it will destroy or make you

I'm not sure that I agree that love isn't logical. (it's definatly plausible)

Eh Gad! Do I sound like Joe now?

I believe that there is 'mystery' to love, but I don't believe in the overromanticised beliefs about it.

"Love is not a romantic projection or a tantalizing illusion. It is the affirmation and promotion of the real person who is the recipient and the beneficiary of our love."

 

[purple_angel]

I'm not sure that I agree that love isn't logical. (it's definatly plausible)

Eh Gad! Do I sound like Joe now?

I believe that there is 'mystery' to love, but I don't believe in the overromanticised beliefs about it.

"Love is not a romantic projection or a tantalizing illusion. It is the affirmation and promotion of the real person who is the recipient and the beneficiary of our love."

Yes but love is what it is to each and everyone of us- so it is as difererent as we are

 

[cantdog]

"huile de coude"??

 

[sweetnpetite]

Yes but love is what it is to each and everyone of us- so it is as difererent as we are

I don't think that either.

Love is love. People call many things love which are not love, and so it may seem that it is different to each of us. Relationships are all different, but love is love.

 

[sweetnpetite]

"huile de coude"??

what's a waybac machine?

 

[cantdog]

It comes from a feature within the show they called Rocky and Bullwinkle. It was a cartoon show. The Waybac was a time travel machine owned by a cartoon dog with glasses called Mr. Peabody. the segment of the show was entitled, "Mr. Peabody's Iimprobable History."

Peabody came on and said, usually, "Hello, Peabody here. And this is my boy, Sherman. Say hello to the nice people, Sherman."

Sherman: "Hi!"

Peabody spoke with an Oxonian accent, Sherman with a falsetto.

Sherman: "Where are we going today, Mr. Peabody?"

Peabody: "Set the Waybac machine for the year 1789. The place: Paris, France."

Sherman would twiddle some dials on a bank of controls and the two of them would step through into the French Revolution.

Or it would be some other date and place.

Peabody's Waybac machine featured a post-and-lintel rectangular archway, through which the dog and his boy would walk, ending up in the place and time Peabody had specified. Cleopatra, the search by Ponce de Leon for the Fountain of Youth, the Little Big Horn: Peabody and Sherman went back to it and had some sort of effect.

Waybac, as a word, is related to Brainiac, Univac, and so on. A computer.

Bullwinkle has to be seen to be believed. Not just Bullwinkle the Moose and Rocky the Flying Squirrel, but Peabody's Improbable History, AEsop's Fables, Fractured Fairy Tales, and Dudley Do-Right of the Mounties.

It was a cool cartoon show on the TV of the seventies and sixties.

Sorry you missed it. It was entertaining for adults as well as kids, because of the many double entendres and puns.

 

[sweetnpetite]

It was a cool cartoon show on the TV of the seventies and sixties.

Sorry you missed it. It was entertaining for adults as well as kids, because of the many double entendres and puns.

I used to watch it when I was a kid, and i remember that proffessor and kid, I just didn't recognize/remember the name of the machine.

we even have a vhs tape around her e somewere.

thanks for taking me waybac

so anyway, what do you think about this aricle about love? I think it's pretty good, personally despite or regardless of the sourse. I've seen so many people with seriously misguided ideas of what love means- and they do a lot of damage to themselves and others.

 

[cantdog]

Love has so many different aspects. Mother love, romantic love, altruistic love, courtly love, dozens of variants.

Including physical love, which is to say fucking.

I'm an atheist. I attach a lot of importance to love.

It was a decent article. Thanks for bringing it to our notice. I think love of children and love of a spouse or lover are both broad, deep, and complex enough to require separate treatmet, and altruistic love (caritas) the same.

Love is a basis of existence and a key to the Good Life.

 

[sweetnpetite]

Love has so many different aspects. Mother love, romantic love, altruistic love, courtly love, dozens of variants.

Including physical love, which is to say fucking.

I'm an atheist. I attach a lot of importance to love.

It was a decent article. Thanks for bringing it to our notice. I think love of children and love of a spouse or lover are both broad, deep, and complex enough to require separate treatmet, and altruistic love (caritas) the same.

Love is a basis of existence and a key to the Good Life.

I think that the essence of love is the same. It's the expression that changes according to type.

But then, I don't think of love as a feeling, I think of it as a verb. Love is not love which does not love.

 

[Guest]

Love is a chemical reaction.

Love is a feeling.

Love is a desire.

Love is a brain fart, where all reasoning goes out the window.

Love is the cause of happiness.

Love is the cause of pain.

Love is the cause of the best feelings on this earth.

Love is devotion.

Love is loyalty.

Love is trust.

Love is that sick feeling in the stomach.

Love is what keeps a lot of people awake at night.

Love is the tie that bonds us togther.

Love comes in many forms.

Love can be displayed in many ways.

Love, in its most base form (raw animal lust?), is what's put a smile on my face right now.

Love hurts.

Love is grand.

I love to love.

Lou

 

[sweetnpetite]

I love to love.

Lou

>>>singing<<<<

'love to love lou baby...

love to love lou baby...'

 

[Guest]

>>>singing<<<<

'love to love lou baby...

love to love lou baby...'

 

[Belegon]

Love is the essence of most of what I write about. I find it hard to curtail it any further than that because everytime I think I have it defined, I find it's existence outside my current definition.

It is far easier for me to define what it is not than to define what it is.