It can be the most beautiful spectrum of life, the most colourful aspect of every silhouette.
It can be the most devastating pain, the most stabbing of truths unraveled at the speed of light.
It can be the most thrilling ride, filled with highs and lows, ups and downs, resets and continuation.
It can be the most exhilarating of encounters, an array of mutually experienced chemical changes.
It can be the steadiest and slowest of growths, a conservative one that serves to conserve, to preserve the beauty that is already in existence.
It can be the most rapid of changes, a liberation of sorts, roaming freely around each other, dancing daffodils in the wind.
It can be the most excruciating of moments, an essence of a droplet magnified into a concoction of patterns, of repetition, of spirals and depth.
It can be the most fleeting of frivolous fun, a joyous joviality jeering in the most “banterous” of manners.
It can be each and every reflection of who you were, are, and have yet to be.
It can be honest.
It can be deceptive.
It can be perceptive.
It can be receptive.
But if it is not reciprocated, it is non-existent.
That, is what sets it apart from love — Love can exist without reciprocation.
“It”, however, cannot.