It can be hard to tell those words. Sometimes it might be dangerous too. And the world seems to deteriorate beside us. And we risk to mingle with it and perish. And so we write it down. Like having a point. Like showing proof. Like a confession. And we do not understand how that fragile us. Because Love doesn’t have a point. It doesn’t prove anything. And it surely doesn’t need a confession. Because Love is. And Love will. Be all. It takes. To be.