love is binary, it cannot happen twice, it starts as nothing, a zero that with effort is turned into a one: through beating gets moulded into something not round, and left to rot and further decay, rusts and remains oh so stale, until one day it finds another purpose, but here is where I stop this story; this journey as it goes beyond my understanding, this transition from nothing into … something of a kind, I wait, hesitantly, for signs of … that