Love.

I have long since deserted my once imperceptible, and perhaps inconceivably so, determination to discover the secrets of the human race. There are too many impossibly simple things that can have so many meanings camouflaged into the ramblings of a sentence, or the intricate melodies of music wrought from strings of steel. Music, to the pack of wolves that is humanity, means either crystal clear simplicity or an overwhelming simmering anger. Anger seems to be the driving force in humanity, the fire and explosions that drive the dreams of humanity to advance to greater and greater heights, skyward in comparison to any else. However angry one single being may get, there is another force like a needle in the spine or a kick in the ass of the intelligent mind, that compulsive need to do something on impulse is the farthest from anger one may ever get. A crimson, bubbling word that tickles the tongue and jumbles the mind of every individual that has ever existed and will never cease to twist knots in our stomachs, a word that I have only recently stumbled across in my recent adventures. A word that he says to me every night. Love.