~ The eyes are blind to love, the only sign of presence is the pain lurking through every opening in the heart . Love is blinded, constantly searching and always finding. Finding love is finding a splinter of glass on an old wooden floor, silence amplifies the midnight darkness. The prick on the tip of a finger sends a familiar feeling, felt once before on the heart when love was captured. What is love? Only the tiny drops of blood will tell as they run rapidly down your finger. Or the tears that rush down rosy cheeks, the bittersweet taste on the very tip of the tongue...each drop tells a story…each story a familiar emotion…each emotion a story…this is love. ~
_Cory_
