noun: distillation

‘the purification or concentration of a substance, the obtaining of the essence or volatile properties contained in it, or the separation of one substance from another, by such a process.’

Some days the hardest part
Is thinking of that someone

And only feeling all the Love

Instead of all the loss

And that I still have to tell myself to try hurts all the more

And yes it seems unfair 

That I should live without the whole of that Love when it was so complete in life

Now refracted like the sun by the rain

Splintered perfect light

And I find a universal unfairness for every soul that tries but fails to see only Love

When they remember someone who’s gone

Because where there is Love

There will always be some pain

Can there ever be only Love?

You are not alone but you have to know

If there can then it is in the living days.

So do not delay in training your brain to distil from happiness and all you’ve experienced only Love 
Let any hurt be gone. Just let it evaporate. Love is the distillate.

For Love is a compound after life has left; memories come pre-mixed, happy with sad and Love is joined by loss at the hip

It is hard to separate, however strong it was, however strong it is

In life let Love be pure while you can. Now is the only time

To forgive

Live

Forget 

Until there is

Only Love left

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