No pleasure rivals the Art brought to you by Pain.

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What caged heart with gates and walls of ice,
won't be melted by the flames of Love?

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What vibrant souls are we,
soaking in the hues of every encounter.

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Oh, the heart of untamed extremes,
what if you encounter a soul that mirrors your depth?
Perhaps that is what it beats for;
Perhaps that is what it aches to be fathomed for.

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For once,
shall I have the privilege?
The privilege of being felt deep,
but not as too much.
So deep that the more they drown,
the more they ache to drench—
a longing they never knew they needed,
a belonging they’ve always craved.
For once, shall I?

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"Love visited me many times before,
but it’s you who made it stay!"

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"Is it love that breathes life into the muse,
or is it the muse that seeks love?"

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Maybe it’s true when they say,
'It’s all in your mind.'
Maybe it’s really true when they say,
'It’s all in your mind.'
Maybe it’s them who injected all that in a bit,
but it’s you who fed and amplified it.
Shadows you built are not homes,
it’s the light you doubt to see, which truly is.
Do you think the one who made it—
cannot destroy it?

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"I was once told,
if roots aim to be leaves—
leaving behind their home,
it's unkind to themselves and others.
Doesn't it mean to stay grounded,
whether you live in dark or light?
And isn't your identity your obligation,
your homage?"

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When I got to know
there exist some people,
who admire the beauty beneath the skin,
that's the time I fell in love with Art.

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