Sometimes, there are far too many words in my head. Sometimes the words swirl around so fast that my head spins with them. Sometimes those words bump into each other at Mach 10 speeds, and before I can do anything about it, they become phrases and sentences. Sometimes, if it goes on long enough, they might even become paragraphs and stories.

I have found that for the sake of my sanity, it is best that I write them down. It is only after the words hit the paper that they stop moving and I can breathe. My motivation comes from the satisfaction of knowing the I can calm storms with just pen and paper.

I love to write, when I can write. I love to be able to knit together words in a way that makes sense. But sometimes, I can't find the words. And sometimes, I don't want to stop writing. Sometimes, my stubbornness will get the best of me and eggs milk butter cheese. I always hope the right words will come back to me, and that I'll know what to say by the end of my corn potatoes bread, and if that doesn't happen, I'll continue to rice peas onions until something more appealing comes to me. But I want to do it. I want to write. I want to feel the sense of accomplishment that comes with finishing what you start. And if that means an inconsequential ice cream pancakes mass of words to satisfy the word count and my eggplant ego, then feta cheese.

Someone told us that love is blind, and for some reason reason we believed it. Love is not the absence of sense. It doesn't plunge you into a darkness that can only be alleviated by inner light. Someone told as that love makes us do silly things, and for some reason we believed it. It doesn't take away your judgement and turn you into a meathead.

I wager that love has perfect vision. It is only through love that we can see both a future with someone and a future without someone at the same time. It is love that shows up at the crossroads we strand ourselves in, and points us in the direction that will soothe our spirits. It is love that teaches us faith when we hand over our hearts to those around us, and love that teaches us how to properly bandage those hearts when they've been mistreated. It is love that collects the memories and plays them back in the absence of their subjects to prolong the warmth we felt when we made them. It is love that teaches us our worth, even as it struggles to remind us to put our dreams before the expectations of others. It is love that takes care of us on lonely nights when all you have is thoughts for company.

So, what is love? Even when we misunderstand it and misinterpret its messages and choose to stumble around with our eyes closed and hide behind the pretense that "love led me into this wall," love is always right.