Possibly that is not what love is. Possibly it's an excursion,

Perhaps our meaning of affection isn't right. Possibly we analyze it to an extreme, to be a feeling, a believing, a unimportant condition of heart.

Possibly that is not what love is. Possibly it's an excursion,

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like strolling in the midst of the mountains, holding your coat close while the breezes of isolation enter it. While you measure the significant quietness around you, and the coo of a flying creature awakens you.

Perhaps you are glancing in an inappropriate area, attempting to check things with a compass. Perhaps you have to persuade lost to be found. Perhaps you should be broken before cherished. Possibly you have to cry before you grin until the end of time.

Perhaps that is the thing that affection is, an excursion, a pathway, to be unified with yourself, to be called upon by the nature, to arrive at that peak, and remove that coat and letting the chilly, scrounge through your skin,

Also, the breeze, liberating you.