LOVE POTION

Some things are made to be felt—never chosen.

It began as craft—

base elements

laid out in quiet measure:

sound,

silence,

a line held to its edge.

Nothing claimed.

No one in mind.

Only language,

reduced—

refined—

until it held.

Not gold—

but something close enough

to leave a trace.

Made that way.

Carefully.

Intentionally.

Scott L. knew that much.

The work was in the balance—

not in who might receive it.

So it was released.

Without aim.

Without a name.

That was the design.

But myth does not follow design.

Somewhere—

beyond the page,

beyond the hand that shaped it—

it struck.

Not the air.

Not the silence.

But the unseen place

where meaning waits

to take root.

Like an arrow

that does not miss—

only lands

without reason.

And what was made as craft—

as measure,

as control—

became something else

entirely

in the one

who held it.

Because the work

does not end

in the making.

And the love potion

does not belong

to the one

who writes it.

It was never meant to reach anyone—

that’s what made it reach someone.