To wonder, In infinate mistery...Is to show, but no rest for my weary soul. When one has, so much love to give, and no one to give it to, they share this affection in poetry. And though I seek it thus, love, is a beauty to whom never sleeps. Witch is the only thing we ask of it. For you see, A craving, without lust, is love. And love, is a sweet drug. Thus, I am an addict.