As a writer, i admit that it's entirely possible to romanticize a person to the point where they no longer seem human . Scientifically, everyone knows that the neck of a lover is not a lavender field and that their smile does not, in fact, hold the moon, the stars and the sun. But do you choose to live within a world of science, or within a world which makes the alchemy of emotions into words possible? I know that his neck isn’t a field of lavender, and i know his touch, in the literal sense, cannot be electrifying. I know that his skin is not mil, and that his lips are not honey. I know that his voice is not the echo of angels, or a hopeful whisper within a catacomb; just as i know his eyes are not as deep as the levels of the ocean itself. But has that ever really been the point? Its seems as though, up to date, science has been able to explain everything but love. Because how can you explain the idea  that somewhere the universe put together the perfect set of atoms, and that the have a name? How on earth can you explain the way you can feel even your molecules dance in his presence; or that your souls must be connected by some drawn out of fishing line, and so when his heart beats you feel it on your end too? You can’t, not fully at least, but you can try; by use of this flawed, limited lexicon. By connecting words that seem to fit, perfectly or just right. Through hyperboles and metaphors, and the like of such. And they will never be able to encompass all of him, but they might come pretty damn close. So maybe we are all born scientist, and then one day, we meet someone who makes us want, in all the magical ways, to believe in art.