How could my heart ever attempt to breathe without love’s intuitive breadth, being the reason my soul has come to know? When it’s air, when it bears a heartbeat, when it needs no one’s permission to be? How can I ever say I have, utter my heart has encountered its sublime, if I’ve never allowed its exhale to bare my soul? I would never be so bold to say, love hangs on my mind’s every thought. It waits patiently in silence, for the moment my heart lets it breathe. Crazy is as crazy does, saying your heart and soul could ever restrain love’s quiet strength. When a heart in need is deeply thirsty, no amount of watered-down love could ever be its essence poured pure. So how, tell me how could I give love less of my heart’s breathless exhale, when daily it won’t relent yet to ask poetically of my soul, my every breath?
WCR
A Love Story! 
Lovely ❤️
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