If love is so blind, surely those with sight can follow its path; the picture frames shifted askew, the footstools overturned, knickknacks bumped out of place. The sightless stumbling must be obvious to one who cared enough for the truth to look. So how can they not discern this wreckage-strewn trail? How can they so easily ignore the signs laid out before them of where exactly along the way the heart took over control of the mind and body? But they do not look, do they, nor seek any evidence which may disprove their own hypothesis. So love continues to find its way in the dark with no helping hand to assist it around furniture or down stairs, reshaping the unseen landscape by accident and design.

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