Love, like magic, is the source of many a ballad, and story. Poetry and art tries to grasp at what the mind cannot, thereby creating great works of great emotion.

We come to these works only to leave filled to the brim with laughter, tears, joy and grief.

We come to these works only to leave with our hearts wide open and our minds reaching out towards nameless yearning.

Love, like magic, is ubiquitous. We find even the most logical minded academic describing their work with words that strum a symphony around the words themselves only to end up naming them directly. Eventually.

We cannot get around love and magic in the same way that we cannot get around our first and last breath. From beginning to end and beginning again we find them at every crossroads, in every flower, in each season, in every breath.

It takes but a glimpse to recognize the unnameable and the untameable. We can give our best efforts to woo love and magic. We may concoct potions and elixirs, write poems and draw shapes in the sand. We can endlessly reach for them, fingering in the darkness of mystery for that which brings light to our days.

A life without them, even a mere meal without love and without magic, may fill us up but satiate us, it will never!