NO ONE HAS EVER FATHOMED ITS DEPTH

I watch  a documentary yesterday and learned that the world allot billions just to predict the long-term effects of global warming, there’s a clock hanging on the wall that tells me the exact time. Just a thirty minute drive from here, there’s giant satellite dishes that promise more precise weather advisories. Such a colossal structure in the recesses of this humble town, such an ingenious decision to map precision over a big chunk of money. For the most part, I don’t see anything wrong with, we are a race too obsessed with sophistication. Things out of this certain convention are deemed unpractical, some menacing enough to draw panic. But some bright, pseudo omniscient minds create guidelines  about love— yes, for heaven’s sake love. Books, social networks and other media set definition of something insatiable, and it’s mocking me. That you’ll know this is love when the person does this certain this and that, and the other end feels this and that. At once, I’d like to believe it as the kind of happy-ever-afters depicted in fairy tales or fictional twist in some romantic movies, but it isn’t. It’s the most overrated of its many faces, and it’s in on the facade yet. The essence behind the conventional level is far more complicated one that’s limited by language, one that can’t be narrowed in a nutshell. Love is irrational, not because it is, but no one has ever fathomed its depth.