Is Love being tucked gently in a warm blanket by
kind hands in December
or is Love sharp pain like shattered glass,
cold and unforgiving in your bones?
Is Love a state of numb acceptance interrupted by punches
in the gut
leaving bruises yellow and violet
when caught off guard, when surprised once more.
Scalding water running down your spine
trying to wash away the memory, the trace evidence of happiness that dares
to pull you back.
Trying to distract yourself.
When after fighting with every fiber in your body to ignore
to move on
to protect yourself
you are startled by a tug along the string connecting you to the one you
Is Love watching him light a fire
begging him to put it out
laying burned and bloodied
being told it's your place to forgive
to move on.
But when your skin is scarred and the smell of charred flesh is imprinted in your soul,
how can you forget who ignited the flames?
Does Love flourish on neither perfection nor desertion?
Love is not painless
but Love is not forced.
Love does not require you to numb your pain
as Love is not flawless,
yet Love is always returned.
This is what we always seem to miss,
Love is returned.