To not feel love is to not know love, like wise to not know love one could never possibly feel love. It’s a cycle I guess or more of a chain of reactions (If there is even a difference.) But somewhere they connect...In the depths of a mind or minds they feed on one another. Without one you have something that resembles poetry but not the kind you want to boast about. The cliché type...with lines the mimic something from a movie or “Love” song, something that could be compared to a typical phrase much like that of “roses are red violets are blue...and yes! I think I love you!” yet with a combination of both something raw forms, its nothing I could fit onto the constraints of this page or in the outlines of these ink filled letters but its something that resembles some form of truth. It’s an emotion, a physical experience. You can’t take a picture of it...Or maybe you could...You could take a picture of what love makes us do, but I don’t think you can really ever see love. Now this is where I have lost people before...But think about it. There’s two old souls sitting on a park bench, their holding hands and he kisses her neck...You take a picture, days latter you look at that picture and you claim that you have single handedly photographed what love is...But how do you know this? Why is a gentle kiss on the neck, hand or cheek a symbol of love, couldn’t it symbolize some sort of devious plan, one that has absolutely nothing to do with love...But this is where my hypothesis is proven to be correct. We see this kiss and we know its love only because we have emotionally known love ourselves. We connect actions to feelings...Feelings to actions. With out one or the other a kiss would purely be a kiss...And those butterflies that dance in your stomach would merely suggest that you just weren’t feeling well. And so I continue to believe that feeling love is impossible without knowing love, and though I’d like to believe nothing is impossible...I know its not likely that I’ll be able to do everything.