It doesn’t come naturally. It’s far from instinct or intuition. It bangs at heart’s door, begging for a chance. It suffers from many afflictions. Unnamed, unknown. It fights to find a mirror, to understand for itself what it has become. It fears, as it falls, breathless; exhausted from flailing arms and bleeding fingers. It hurts. It cannot find resolve, how much ever it searches. Groveling for help, door to door, it’s helpless. With a body resembling silk, it meanders through dark rooms, feeling the walls… No, really feeling them. It becomes something else, disguising itself, desperate for someone to notice it. It screams, but no one hears, it asks for one pair of eyes, one pair of lips, and thousands of listening ears. It drags bruised feet, pushing further and further, blinded by blaring darkness. It doesn’t feel anymore, all used up. Dry like a desert floor, all it’s life sucked out of it by vultures circling above. It has lost itself, finally succumbing to the pain and confusion. It becomes frail, but no one cares. And slowly it drifts away and turns into a pillar of stone cold resistance, hesitance and refusal. There it stands, once so beautiful, the source of all warmth and beauty- now so afraid and icy. You did this to it. You must be held responsible. It came for you and you ignored it as it banged away on your heart’s door. Now it’s gone, never to turn back. Only to mock you, as life passes you by. L.O.V.E., once the letters engraved on it’s body, now read H.A.T.E. Then you realize, it’s too late.