Love has an element of envy;
It cannot decipher
What is supposed, as a passion
Between thumb and finger.
It has no sense but itself,
An emotive rush thereof
Its meaning, revealed to souls
Who deny belief of love.
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Inspired by the following poem by Emily Dickinson.
PAIN has an element of blank;
It cannot recollect
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
