what is love?
A question humanity has puzzled over
a question I
have stayed up until dawn many nights,
pen, poised upon a page
and still, nothing.
If asked, I would have said
I have been in love
But was it love?
My first boyfriend abused me,
and yet, bought me roses and diamonds,
I wept over him for a year,
now, I can't stand to look at him.
My best friend had palms of lace,
and she would hold my hand,
even though I felt ashamed.
We kissed on the park bench, once,
I ran my fingers through her silky strands
this is love.
But for her, it wasn't enough,
and she killed herself two months later.
My last boyfriend had eyes of stars,
and hands that seemed to understand
He played the fiddle while I swayed,
we were a one night stand that remained
long past it's due date,
he said I was perfect, and still,
asked me to change,
so I ran away.
And sitting here, so far from home and so alone,
I wonder, was it love?
Or is it just some token of hope.
Now, a new person has entered my life,
and we're not even at the stage
where it is socially acceptable to say
we like each other,
let alone love.
But he gives me butterflies no amount of writing
and he makes me laugh on days I find
a smile impossible.
And if it comes down to it,
I want to know
what I'm saying
when I utter those three words
that prove the tongue can move mountains.
For me, love is like air
we breathe it, we need it,
and yet, there is no proof
of it even there.
Love is spending the night with someone
knowing you might snore, wake up the next morning
a disgruntled image of yourself
and still want to share that moment
with no one else.
Love is when you don't want to hold
because your fingers only fit
Love is being able to scream, to cry,
to hate, to fight, and know
they won't walk out.
Love is jumping off a plane
knowing you could get smashed into the ground,
but trusting your parachute is going to work
Love is when someone can say your name,
and tell you everything in that single call.
Love brings us all to our knees,
and gives us wings to soar.
Love is not material,
Love cannot be grasped, be kept, be hoarded,
it is not meant to keep, but to give,
and hope your gift will be requited.
And me, I'm still learning what love is,
but even more, I'm learning not to give up,
because the very question
what is love?
implies that it is.
And that is enough.