I have had neither drink nor herb, yet I am under a magickal spell.

Waves of physical energy slosh through my nerves like a warm, vibrating liquid, causing a sheer, delicious ache of something so real yet so far beyond reason: joyous sadness. Melancholy ecstasy.

The magnitude of this feeling no logic can justify, and on but scant knowledge is it based, yet its power completely enslaves me.

Love is nature.
The most primitive force.
Love is my one true master.