I`m not quite certain how many know about love. Okay, not love, but love. I mean the doesn`t make any sense, confusing, crystal, hurting, freeing sort of love that can happen when someone loves you back. And the sky could rain for years if it meant there`d be no way to muddle back home if that`s what it took.
But that`s not what I mean to say, really. What I mean to say is this. Love is curious. In the words of someone some one else knows, "it is one of the things I am most curious about." No, no, no. Love hurts. At worst, you harm them. At best, they sabotage you. They trick you so you fall &you`ll be damned if there`s any way out of it.
What to do:
Some times it is best to hold on tight, tight, tightly. To press them up against your heart &hold them there until their ragged breathing turns to match the shallow beating of your own.
Other times you hold them close, press your foreheads together for a while &let go.
Some times they do not come back.
But some times they do.
I have heard that tenderness often goes underestimated in this world. I have heard that the faithfull are few and far between. I have let go & held on, loving poorly. Slowly, I have learned the art of ferocious love, defeating and redeeming gentleness.
"You are a fighter," he says knowingly. Perhaps I am. For now, or when the time calls for such a ferocity. Like a lion cub baring her little pin-point teeth, pouncing in the grass. In every blade of grass...
But one day I will hold those bones so tightly, till the beats match, and press foreheads together. Then I will let go.
&love you back.