Looking back on something written so long in the past is as insightful as it is terrifying. One can feel the suicidal overhanging, or taste the absolute joy that was felt at the moment those thoughts were put down on paper (or computer screen). Sometimes, when old papers or old stream of thoughts are discovered, it is almost impossible to believe (because of the wonderful wording, or the intolerable scrawl) that you are the author. How often one forgets the wonders of what is going on at all times. How often our misfortune leads us to hatred of ourself, or of others. How often, How often, How often. Questions beginning with those two words are so numerous they should never be counted, because people tend towards the same mistakes time and time again, without seeing past downfalls, or past mishaps. Love is a many splendored thing, and is the largest trap for the "How oftens". Love life, and life alone, because giving that undying devotion to a simple carbon based organism would kill them. The overwhelming nature of Love, the undescribable emotion and mental focus it would take to actually convey that state of being onto another human would take such force that it is almost inconceivable. Love is the most valuable thing on this earth simply because it is the rarest and most vital part of human existence