a thought after being dead behind the eyes

Sometimes the words just come to me, in constant ebb, an unbroken chain of my fragmented sentences. Contradictory. I am always contradicting myself.
I would never venture to say that what I have to say doesn’t make sense, as to myself, everything I have ever said or written is true, granted, my diction translated poorly, and the command of the English language escapes me. The thoughts just come in rapid fire, and I can feel the power behind them, the truth encompassed in a construction of letters that form the words.
I love you.
Of course those are the three I go to.
Cliché, yes, but perhaps a glimpse of the human condition to understand love, to create it, and the more I explore the realms of amorous relations, the more I begin to find that I hardly understand it at all.
It is a fundamental law of physics that matter cannot be created nor destroyed.
This concept can be applied to what matters all the same.
love is not something that can be chosen, not a line that has a disconnect or a predetermined subject. Although a realist by nature I am a fatalist at heart, and feel as though our life agendas, although not preordained, are not completely transcribed by our own hands in the terms of the paths we cross and the people and places we anchor into.
We live in a world that is completely random and our fates sit in the clutches of chance. Our lives are so fragile in the sense that one moment we are here and in the next we are gone. Snuffed out like a candle, leaving behind nothing more than a wisp of smoke that fades out into the air around it. However, we leave so much more behind; a recollection of the place we once illuminated, living on in those we leave behind in our darkness.
If you have ever loved and lost you may understand what I am getting at here.
We cling to this loss, to this love, which is unequaled; a force that not even the shrewd hand of death can pick pocket us of. Once you have loved, truly loved, that bond is never broken, and it is as though it always simply existed, before the recognition of it, bleeding in continuity.
it is an notion that is difficult for me to finger, to begin to supply the words to describe exactly what it means. This may possibly be due to a lazy mind that has been idling far too long, or maybe an out of practice attempt at dissolving such a quandary, but I’d like to think more of it.
Love.
It’s bigger than this, bigger than my scope of understanding, but never beyond my capability. All that I have loved I continue to love, perhaps not through dutiful expression, but boundless feeling.
I’d like to think that, so ponder this I shall.