Only Love
“Buckle your seat belt,” Mom says with a sigh that could
fall the leaves from the trees. I do,
and she nods contentedly as she hears the click,
smiling as if she could melt the sun.
“Be careful!” Dad says, watching me run,
popsicle in my hand, around the
chlorine pool. I frown,
toes burning into the hot concrete,
my pink bathing suit bleached from blistering sun.
He laughs, and tells me the slow lane
is for safe drivers.
I laugh, and walk with tortoise speed towards the pool steps.
“You’ve got it,” my brother says, enveloping me in a hug before the ACT.
He pushes my glasses up for me, and whispers
that I’ve always been the smart one, but if I want a failsafe,
Mom and Dad’s basement has enough room for the both of us,
and we can stay kids forever.
“I don’t get it, but I care.” He says chuckling, listening to me
rant and rave about anything imaginable. Me, with a book in my hand;
him, with his jersey on, as I tell him every thought I’ve had
since breakfast and since birth. Somedays his eyebrows furrow,
or his brown eyes scrunch, always listening.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says, as she holds my hand under the
stall door as I throw up again. My Chuck Taylors squeak the bathroom tiles
and she tells me she’ll be right back. I feel nauseous and lonely again,
but she comes back with my backpack slung over her shoulder,
and says she’s driving me home, whether I like it or not.
Love
is waking up next to somebody
that annoys you sometimes,
and still deciding
to make eggs for them.
Love
is teaching your child
unconditional
is not a lie.
Love
does not take advantage,
manipulate,
or hurt.
Love
does not play your heartstrings
to a tune of
bad intentions.
Love
is sincere,
selfless,
honest,
and kind.
Anything else
is not love
only hate pretending to be.
Only love
heals,
hopes,
and recovers.