When they ask me what love is, they expect me to laugh and shake my head in rue, instead I give them emotion.
“Don’t do it.” I say to them. “Don’t think about it. You think you know what love is? It’s pitiful, your love I say. It’s superficial, weak and desperate for validation on social media. Absolutely pitiful.”
They shake their heads, annoyed and tell me I’m too pessimistic. Not meant to understand love. They say that, as if I don’t have a soul filled with words to pour out in front of my beloved. That I’m bereft of something.
I wonder how they don’t know what love is when they profess to dabble in it almost daily.
Love is hot and cold on your skin and deep inside your bones. It’s fire and ice. It’s not the cool mountain dew you crave on a hot day, it’s ice that makes you shiver in anticipation and tremble in delight. What I felt was a hug so tight I felt complete. A touch of the hands I wanted to repeat. My heart felt so warm it was like a blanket I rushed to get into on cold December night but I forgot, Love is not so frail. It is powerful and strong. In your face with all the dirty emotions you can’t change because they’re painted across the sky. Love sears you from inside out and keeps you wanting more, while you watch your skin melt with a smile.
It’s pure- it’s ethereal, maybe unreal for some but only thing real for me.