This Thing...

What is this thing?
This sourceless emotion
Happiness, elation
Muddled with confusion
Displeasure, frustration
A whirlwind of feelings
from this one thing...

Sometimes so empty
So cold, dorment,
Barely even there...
But sometimes it's all there is
And we need no more.

It's a reason, the reason
To go on living, or to want to die...
And it makes so little sense
Though I doubt it is supposed to...
Sometimes it does, or seems to,
But somehow the sureness fades,
Leaving only gray, darkness...
Until I once again stumble upon the good, the right
Oh, so right...
But sometimes, so wrong...

Why?
I don't know.
All I know is that it is.
And I will always wonder,
and maybe someday, years from now, or perhaps tomorrow,
I may find the answer...
But til then, I will always ask.

What is this thing?
This... love?