Love is invisible except here, in us. Sometimes I praise love, sometimes love praises me. Love, a little shell somewhere on the ocean floor, open its mouth. You and I and we, those imaginary beings, enter that shell as a single sip of seawater. Rumi
Seawater? I do not know what makes that ending so beautiful. It is a beauty defies my expectation, that knows my heart's longing better than I do, that bypasses my usual way of knowing.