The most abstract of intangibles.
The hardest to find.
The rarest of feelings.
Yet the world is enveloped at any given time.

It’s not some thrill
Some race for the heart
It’s not the lust we try to deny.

It’s not the longing dependence of familiarity
It’s not some unavoidable circumstance.

Not just something that happens
Some surprise from the blue.

Not some forced expression from society
Not something to keep to oneself.

It in no way can be a selfish thing
Some phenomenon monopolized by a heart.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s all of those things. Or none. Who knows?

What I know is that it’s more than a feeling.
To reduce it to a single emotion is sacrilege.

But by taking all of it unto oneself,
The colors of nature,
The smiles of society, the buzzing of bees,
The rhythm of ever so gently swaying trees,
The shine in the World’s eye,
Can one spread their own heart
All throughout the sky.