Love is naive and ruthless.
It prospers in ways the wind cannot
and flows in all directions a river would never wish to go.
It is almost silent.
But it screams at every confrontation with hate.
It nearly breaks.
But it is wonderful.
Love may be only one tiny flame,
but it is more eventful then a forest fire,
It's orange leaves in November in the sunshine before they crush into dust and are lost like most love stories,
No love is like Ice.
It is clear and cold ,
slippery and fragile in heated atomspheres
but if the honesty in Decembers cold climates maintains
and the rain droplets fall in just the right way the ice will build and could almost be unbreakable, sturdy.
But little heat can turn it to water.
Then heat will turn it into vapor that get lost in the sunlight like a snake in the air.
That is love.
And it is just like Ice.