Sometimes, it’s just enough to know that we love someone. Without whispering into their ears, without any message inside a corked wine bottle. We can even let it sink inside ourselves and let it die with us. Never uttering lover’s name in sleep, never writing their name on palm. So that no one knows. Love has roads carved beyond what one sees. There is a boundary which we call life and there is love which sometimes crosses genders, sometimes crosses species, and crosses worlds. I loved an egg shaped stone once. She was smooth and she tasted like river. She was older than me and knew things that I would never know. She felt cold in my hands but if I kept her long enough, she yielded to my heat. Then as fate would have it, I lost her. I can only hope that someone else has found her. Or him. It’s better to not define love. You get too technical and will start spouting about neurotransmitters and electricity. Or you get too detached from reality. Then the madness becomes love. But love is neither. Or is either. A sum of everything. Chemicals buzzing in head. Comfort and pain in the heart. A non linear spiritual experience. And more. It may be a lie. But it feels like the truth. Like fiction?