Love

Love is a great word.  To boast about,  To write about.  To bitch about.  To make uneasy statements of belief or unbelief in.

To one it is magical and involves serendipitous moments, whimsy, and fate.

To another it involves chemicals, biology, and programming.

Love is at the same time a kind mistress and a bitch.

She is a roofie for your mind, heroine for your body, and she never stays.

Love is an unfaithful whore promising a lifetime as her feet take her wherever her frivolous and untamed desires lead.

Yet she is all powerful.  She will kick you in the teeth and leave you wanting more.

She will take your dignity, and, once restored, steal your manhood over and over again.

She is the darkest of loveliest things.

She makes great boasts through the tongues of men she holds

We write all of our songs about her.  Compose great stories exalting her but I have discovered her secret.

She is not real.  She is a fake  She is not love at all.  She is selfish, narcissistic, and self absorbed.  She is a dark and empty hole that can never be filled.  A thirst that can never be quenched.

Real love abides.  Real love conquers.  Real love sees the good in others.  Real love is thoughtful.  Real love knows the value in sacrifice.  Real love is rare.

She cannot be found in a poem, or a movie, or a song.

She is found in the house where wisdom lives.  She whispers in your ear when you are tempted to walk away.  She lives with humility.  Her light shines brightest in the faces she touches.