I am crushed between the endless, scorching search for love and the absence thereof. My patience, initially abundant and springing, has grown towards the relapse of its half life and is decaying amongst the wreckage of the latter of my emotion. To the similarity of the celestial bodies, one can only gaze in their majesty and gracefulness painted as a mural by the Almighty himself. Yet, as the beauty relays to the eye to be within an arms reach, it is billions of light years away. The sheer magnificence can only be observed and admired, yet the heart yearns for the sense of touch to be stimulated by the stars. The feeling can only be analogized to the crusade of passion, lacking faith and hope for the reward to appear. Shout and exclaim into the heavens wherefore an act of beauty can be created and their awe be descended from posterity to posterity, though a single being, which would bring only the most powerful amendments of joy and love, is cleaned from the plane of existance. Yet there is no answer. The ways of humanism taught that each being existed with doubled of every organ within the human body, as we are destined to search endlessly for the other half. Tell me, then, why I've been bestowed with an abundance of love and passion to fill not one, but two hearts?