Some things are beyond our reach.
But that doesn't keep us from trying.
That is why the painter keeps trying to recreate natural beauty. It is why the photographer continually tries to capture the moment. And it is why the writer always tries to describe the indescribable.
But where the painter and photographer are haunted by what we all can see, the writer so often is visited by the ghost of that which is beyond our senses, and yet often more real than anything we can see, touch or taste.
We keep trying to put love into words.
Poets and writers of prose both seek to find words to convey what is felt, what is in the heart, mind and soul. Even though they fail, time and again, they never stop trying. Along the way, they often can offer us -- with a word, a phrase, a stanza, a sentence -- a glimpse, a peek, a small part of what love really is. Even as they struggle to find the words to tell us how love feels, what love looks like, how love finds us and we find love, and where to encounter love, they still offer us bits and pieces of the jigsaw puzzle that is love. In doing so, they help us better know love when it finally does come into our lives.
Ironically, it is not until we have found love and it has found us that we recognize the truth in their words. For until love has paid you a visit, you can read what others have written and only hope even a part of what they write is true. Only once love abides with you, or even when it has been and gone, can you see the truth in the words penned by poets and truly understand the ideas offered in the best prose. Only then does what they write make sense to your mind and heart for both retain the distinct memory of what love is and can vouch for the veracity of the written word.
Even then, though, the heart and mind can see the shortcomings of the written word where love is concerned. Because no matter how hard any writer tries, and no matter how gifted and talented he or she is, they cannot find the words to capture love on paper. So know that whatever you read on paper or hear in the poetic words of a song, it still is far, far less than what love truly is.
Just as the beauty of a flower eludes the painter's brush and the depth of the moment escapes the photographer's shutter finger, so, too, does the entirety of love slip through the fingers of the writer.
Just as it so often slips through our fingers, leaving us only the words of poets and songwriters as salve for our aching, longing hearts.
