love is a funny thing. it can do so many things to you.
good and bad.
leave you high up in a cloud or miserable in a gutter.
it changes you each time it comes and goes and each time it takes a piece of you with it.
the thing is,
it leaves a little something in its place when it does. it never leaves you empty handed no matter how broken hearted.
it’s pretty amazing. if there is anything in this life to believe in, it’s love.
some loves are minor. they come in and flicker like candle light. a nice draft and the flame is out.
some loves are major. they move mountains like earthquakes. toppling ornaments from sacred places so they crash and shatter on the floor.
some loves come shrouded in a death cloak. like the grim reaper, it comes with scythe, cutting you down at the knees, impairing your ability to flee.
others come from out of the clear blue yonder. like sunbeams peaking out from behind the whispey clouds left behind after a good rain. when all the wicked has been washed away leaving behind the freshness of a blank canvass just waiting for the master artist to paint a new story on.
I’ve been lucky.
I’ve been unlucky.
I’ve had all types.
I’ve had loves that crippled me but I learned how to walk again.
I’ve had loves that stole my voice but I learned to speak again.
I’ve had loves that left me hollow but I was filled again.
I’ve had loves that we’re epic. loves great poets would write about, if only they knew the story.
loves that are comparable to the love Antigone felt for her brother. treasonous love that I was willing to die for.
and yet I didn’t. I live on.
loves imbued with the patience of a monk seeking enlightenment in some monastery in Tibet. silently, with steadfast penance.
and yet I found it not. still I endure.
and always ready.
ready to be caught off guard and knocked flat on my back. winded. gasping for air. clutching at my chest right where Cupid’s arrow struck. bloodied and wounded. looking for that little cherub with the wicked bow so I could kick his ass for doing it to me again. should know better by now but he likes playing with me. and honestly,
I like being his target.
something so incredible that it’s as much a gift as it is a curse.
something so amazing it is both venom and cure.
and we. take it. for granted.
not recognizing it when it shows up and slaps us in the face. shunning it when we’re to weak to face another day even though chances are, it came to provide the strength that is needed to proceed.
it can straighten your back, push back your shoulders, raise your head, and plant a smile on your face so deep that your cheeks hurt.
lets not forget, it adds wind to your step so each pace is taken on a cushion of cloud. floating, your feet don’t even touch the ground.
I forgive you. how could I hold a grudge against you, love. you’ve been my best friend and worst enemy all in one but I could never resent you. you’ve taught me the meaning of hope. you showed me the trueness of beauty and I saw it with tear streaked cheeks. you have always been exactly where I needed you and the exact time and place where I would run into you. like that old junior high school friend you bump into at random places, proving that no matter the time or distance between you, that innocent friendship is still there.
I will always welcome you. my doors and windows will always be wide open. that little bastard angel even has a place to hang his quiver and a place to rest when his little wings can’t carry him anymore.
thanks for visiting. maybe this time, you’ll stay a while.