You cannot hold it, but can give it to someone. How enthralling that is. You can't technically see, hear, taste, smell or feel it, but at the same time you can. It's nothing and everything. How magical it seems. You can take and give it, hold it, shelter it, care for it, and wildly spread it. Love cures inexplicably. It is the greatest cleansing agent. Healing wounds you never thought you had and the untouchable ones you thought would be there forever. And it has the power to make you see so clearly, while still being able to cloud your sense and make it seem as though you are walking through a dream.
We all have it, in different forms, but at the root of it the seed is the same. Leaves of good intentions and harmony, respect and trust bloom on it. The blossoms are fragrant. People give it to us, and we give it to others. It's handed off, handed down, passed along, passed around. It is young and old, used and new, recognizable and different.
Love storms in on the cloudy days and shines down on the crystal clear ones. It is the pot at the end of the rainbow and it skips over the ocean like a stone only to alight the sky when birds take flight. The stepping stones of our lives hold the love of those we've crossed paths with. And in our footprints, we leave behind the impression of love. With it we can fly and run and jump and beat the odds. Without it we are lost.
It's one of those things that we should all be grateful for. I know I am.