What is this thing we call Love?

What is this thing we call Love?

I know it not.

Grains of sand running through our fingers,

Or, water in our cupped hands,

Is it more like.

Tangible, I have heard;

But, only for a short while.

For after it flees

We are left with the remembrance of

What we thought it to be,

And, our empty hands begging to be useful once again.

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So, what do you think?

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