Like a star on fire or a day of rain. We are powerless.
We do not choose such things.
We do not dictate when the rain will wet the ground and drown the earth.
We do not say when a star will burn out and plunge into the defeated unknown.
We do not know nor do we have the power or strength.

We do not choose who we fall in love with.
People may say we do, but they are mistaken.
Love is not chosen. It in itself is the chooser.
The choice maker.
The chains that bind.
The force.
The light.
The power.
It is immortal.
It is idyllic.
It is dangerous.
It is kind.
It is fear.
It is here.

It is inevitable.

If it were not true... Where would we be?
Maybe we would be full.
Maybe our hearts would never become broken.
Maybe we wouldn't even exist.
Maybe. Maybe not.
Love.
A very peculiar thing indeed.