A Speculation At This Time

From what I've read, love is a many-splendored thing.

A Speculation 

There will never be enough time to describe how it feels

never enough pages or reels. 

They could go on for years about the infinite feelings it brings.

To touch it is to hold the last light on earth, ethereal and bright.

How it burns to hold.

Painful is its pulse and dreadfully sorrowful is its absence. You begin to yearn for the beating. 

More frightening then fear, it's hard to fathom.

We always conjure it up in some many phantoms. 

Having the fragility of a young emotion and more pure than a single truth.

One could go on forever never being able to carry the bliss of this burden and be damned to suffer alone. Cold is the tide that washes over them and bitter is the night with no one to hold them. 

Some perish with smiles on their faces just by having the lotteries chance of keeping it.