Maybe I Feel Too Much

In my mind, thoughts are endlessly racing, never coming to a constant halt.  I can ponder the most vivid imagery, coming up with interpretations of the utmost complexity, and drink up the most enigmatic logic, yet something still lies dormant, forever boggling my mind.  A neurological abstraction: love.“Love” is the word, and emotion, that burns deep inside me.
When I hear the word “love,” a vast array of thoughts, memories, and distinctions come to mind, although most of these are closely associated with desire.  Love is the force that binds all hate, yet still makes a person drunk with passion.  By no means is “loving” a trite (to me at least), or well-known emotion because we all perceive this feeling of unwavering belonging differently.  Love is benevolent, yet very desolate, but forever empowering.  Thinking of its gravity still makes me question, how?  How could something that many do not comprehend have such an influence on our lives?
Many die in the name of love, but not all alike.  I have died for love, not physically, but the wholeness of my sustenance has been devoured by this deprave beast.  Here and there my being has regenerated to some extent, but will never be whole again until I feel that selfless love.  At one point, my life, my happiness, me, was all poured down like malted flesh into love’s unforgiving abyss.  Love can make one so dismal at times.
But why we do we sacrifice so much for a feeling that can consume the psyche, if felt wrong? When you find  “love” there is pain, and if you’re stuck on that person there is no freedom.  Both people must find true love within each other or there will be no freedom, and silent pain.  Those people must find the right love in themselves.
Lovers all alike could tell you why love makes people do so many irrational things, but in fact they never look at the other side until love has vanished and aridly sweats  from the pores.
Lovers unknowingly seek pain, and give consent to humans' innate abstraction of hate.  For when lovers are forsaken, even true love will not withstand the blows of such a hellish beast: the words that love can make some say.  It’s hard for me to believe that love can conquer all, because just maybe we are all bound by hate and we love its pain, until, that is, true and selfless love gently – as elegant as the cosmos – sweeps us, blissfully, onto another plane of existence, one that rejects introversion, desolation, bitterness, and knows only of passion, and consensual desires...  But who am I to know such things – I only know what I do not know -.  I have no experience with real love, and since I am talking to a piece of paper, one can see I have not much to offer.