She mourned the lover she never met, more than she'd admit
There was a stone in her heart, it was a memory leaving scars
So when the day offered more, she refused to post the score
She preferred hope to hiding, life is a road prone to winding
Where could she go, who would ever know
What are the secrets of love, the art of finding someone
An offering of a place that gives enough once begun
A coupling that proves fulfilling and abundant?
What is life without enough love
Why would anyone choose that path?
What is life but the pursuit of being whole
Life is an art, it isn't science and math
There is no formula or proof that we can know what's good
So give all there is inside or face losing to the lie
That there is more we should know
To live this thing called life and find what our heart needs to grow
