A short one about love (Written at 3:37am)

Love-

The word means more than we think.
Love means we have a heart. Love means we feel.
We connect.
Love is this thing we have; it lives and it breathes.
Love expands and contracts.
Love is hope in hopeless times.
Love is painful. Love hurts. Love does not operate according to logic.
Love is a night when you can’t sleep because of fear and insecurity; meanwhile, all it would take is to hear the voice of your loved one
and then next, all would rest easily.

Love is this thing that gets us out of bed in the morning.
Love is the reason why we lace up our shoes.
And sometimes, love is the reason we lace up our gloves
because the love we feel has given us
the motivation to fight back,
to not go down, to stand strong,
and to never, ever, mutter the words,
“I quit.”

Love is not that everything is perfect.
Not at all.
Love is perfection within our imperfection.
Love is not the absence of character flaws or defects.
Instead, love is the presence of all the above,
and yet,
none of that matters.

There is no ugliness here. Love patience.
However, love is also impatient.
Love is the frustrated feeling you have
when you see someone you care about
and you watch them struggle,
meanwhile, you want to yell.
You want to scream, “What the hell are you doing to yourself,”
and maybe you say it.
Maybe you scream it.
Maybe you shake your firsts.
Maybe you throw something,
But love is still the prime motivator.

Love is all we have.
This is our most sacred treasure,
which is why love hurts
because not everyone feels love or treats love the same way,
which leads to disappointment,
or worse,
this is what leads to heartache.
And above all things there is no pain in the human world
worse than heartache.
None whatsoever . . .

Put simply,
love is the bravest emotion we have.

My love is ever-changing and ever expanding.
My love moves like the white clouds through a beautiful springtime sky.
My love is unknown and known at the same time.
Best of all, my love is me.
My love says everything about me
because it has no fear,
no secrets, no reasons to abandon hope,
or quit.
No . . .
My love is real

My love is this thing I have
which keeps me company when times are otherwise lonesome.
My love is you and all the things you make me feel.
My love is the softness in your smile
and the quietness in your voice when say,
spoken in the middle of the night,
and all I can hear are the words,
“I love you.”

If anyone tells you that love is perfection,
I disagree.
Love has nothing to do with perfection
because love is just love.

And that’s all there is to it.

Love comes with complication.
Make no mistake about this,
But where would we be without love.
And where would I be without you?

Know what I mean?


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