There is nothing more.
Is it visible? Do I shine from the inside and out?
Are my bubbles bubbling over?
Will people notice then?
That I have a spark in my body telling me to love.
Or that life is too interesting for missing out on feelings.
Excessive endorphines pouring out of my body.
They are far too many.
Crying my eyes out, because life is. what life is.
A comedy. Ha-ha-ha.
God's watching me, shining through thick black clouds,
With sun, warmth and a Kierkegaard.
Turning the wind and singing in the saltwater country.
It is all my plan now. The godly plan. Mr. Spinoza are you in love already?
I am, in everything I know. Everything that reflects my mirror.
How many copied words can you use in the manifesto of your life?
Would it matter?
Opportunities, life choices.
Am I you and you me?
Am I caused or am I causing?
Is it myself I am staring at over dinner and candles?
Retorical questions just means that I know nothing.
Read my lips, my love. But you already know, without a word.
Do I too?
That there is nothing more,
than to love and be loved.