Love

Love. Does true love exist?
Does true love exist as depicted in countless stories, or innumerable actions or infinite works of art?
When the emotions that come forth under the perfect circumstances make you feel more alive than before, is that not a sign?
The perfect words, the perfect setting as if an uncontrollable force that is driving for true happiness and love is alive.
Alive and well.
Almost chaos.
That is love.
If the emptiness felt when I read these words or imagine the setting is a glimpse into the unlikelihood of it happening, and the reality that happiness like that can never come forth, then what reason is there to hope for true love?
Truth be told,
deep down in the pain,
there has always been hope,
it comes with the soul.
If hope comes with the soul,
embedded within,
how is it possible to feel that much pain and want?
The want for nothing other than the perfect love.
For the soul can have only one perfect love,
and that perfect love is unattainable.

Or is it?