How you wish you could love, really love, love without attachment to love itself which can only survive without attachment. Attachment is like handcuffs that bind. Attachment is a having to have. Love isn’t had. It isn’t purchased. It isn’t taken. It isn’t forfeited. Love belongs, yet it is not a belonging.

Love is like a bird that must be free to fly. Love is poised. It comes from a high place that cannot be enchained. Love, by its very nature, must be free to soar! Love does not like to make itself small or dehydrated or fast-frozen. Love likes to be wave and wave of itself. Love must be a bird that flies high. Flying birds are not to capture one another. They are to free one another in order to accompany each other. Neither is the chattel of the other. Love cannot be owned. Love isn’t like that.

Love is not to be stolen. Love from another heart is to stay in his or her own heart and not be bound by even the one loved. Love is not to be insisted on. You have seen love calculated. Love is not meant to be a matter of your hand played right as in a card game. Look not to be the winner of love, the capturer of love. Be not the capturer of love nor the prisoner.

Love, true love, is something different. Love is not meant to be blind. Even a seducer or siren of love fools himself or herself. Everyone in love wants his love to be wonderful, and so both lovers’ eyes paint fictitious pictures. Each paints pictures according to illusion. False premises lead to false conclusions. Disillusion comes later.

It has been thought, as the world is, that it is the heart that falls in love -- that Cupid shoots an unaimed arrow, yet it is the mind that pulls the wool over your eyes. The heart looks to the mind. You have a dream, and you want it to come true, so your mind does some patching here and there, and you proclaim love.

Love cannot be an obligation. It is not a debt. Love is not something to have. Love is to be. Love can best be when it is left to itself. Love does not have to be won. It does not have to be assigned. Love is not meant to capitulate.

Ah, to love, to be loved, love unattached, undemanding, and unpremeditated.

Often, in the world, love is a world sport, coveted, indulged in, a game of sorts, yes, a dart game of sorts.

Cupid shoots his arrow with his eyes closed. Love that is long-lasting has to be clear-eyed. Without illusion, there will no aftermath of disillusion.

Let there be love-lasting without ownership. Love belongs to itself, love unregimented, love that doesn’t win, and love that can’t lose.

Full-blown romantic love as it has often been seen in the world, possessive, tumultuous, overwhelming, is settling down in the world. Love will rise in everyone’s heart. Giving will be the order of the day. Giving but not giving up nor giving away, not a barter, not a trade, not compensation, simply a freeing of hearts to culture love, love, less than a specialty, more of a proclivity, love born and love borne in all hearts, love good-hearted, love established as if from its native land, love from an arbor, love from the temple of the heart, love simple without flourishes and mandates.