My shape of love

The universe has carved a space for me into which I fit perfectly. It's so unique that nobody but I and only I fit into it. It is in that space I store all the love I receive. And it is there I grow my love and dispense it to those I wish to give. It's funny how the space works. It is infinite when it is being filled but, finite when being emptied for dispensation. There isn't any limit to how much love you can pump into that space but there is only that much you can take out of it. 

Antithesis

I wonder what it is to love someone. And be loved equally. Even if I assume for a moment that I know what it feels like, it is all so distant. Guilts, regrets, joys and sorrows all seem like a homogenous batter of a cake never baked; broken tid bits of memory strewn all over the timescape of my memory. If love was to give, I gave. If love was to take, I took. Yet in the final summation it neither remained given nor taken. It remained at an equilibrium. At zero. Equilibrium is supposed to denote a perfect state. But what remained is a void--a continuum of lifeless void. Should I equate the void with equilibrium? Something doesn't let me. Because when I try filling up the void the equilibrium is broken. When the equilibrium is broken the void sets in again. It feels as if the void and equilibrium are at an eternal conflict. Yet one follows the other.

When I subject my emotional endurance to its limit, mental degeneration sets in. When I subject my mental endurance to its limit, emotions play a havoc. Is it so difficult to love? Or is it so simple that its simplicity makes you taken-for-granted? When love becomes unpossessive, convenient and selfless it craves for possession, inconvenience and selfishness. When love is given an expression it transforms into a series of unappreciated platitudes. Does my love lack substance? Or is it my substance that lacks love?