I have been afraid to write of love lately. It takes away too much out of me.
Love is the essence of living. And there are days, which these days are most days when I feel it hurts too much to speak of love with careless abandon. I did so once. Perhaps even dared to do it twice. Once all was said done, I was left with a mere shell of my words.
Just as the grass will turn green in spring and the leaves, a myriad of colours in October, the Earth will become barren come winter. The sun will rise to give birth where decay once lay. It will rise to burn life to the ground. The rain will fall when the Earth is parched. It will fall even when the Earth has had too much to drink. This is the balance of nature.
Your body grows until it begins to shrink. You rise and fall with every breath. You disintegrate and renew each day. Year after year. Month after month. Day after day. The cycle repeats. Like love and and heartbreak. You love. You hurt. You forget and you learn to love again. This is the balance of life. Always precise. Not an event out of line.
Don’t question the timing of things. Everything happens precisely when it should. As it should. Precisely.
Oh, it’s been a long and lonely ride. Stumbling through this life, you’ve made a pit stop every time someone has offered to be kind. To love the rotten parts of you, just enough to keep you alive. In your desperation, you let them, knowing all too well, with every encounter your heart was crying. A little more each time. Eventually, the tears turning into oceans, and the waves pulling you towards the Eastern shores, where I reside. For your welcome, even the silver orb shines, illuminating the night sky. And, baby if the brightest beacon is not enough to guide you home, I’ll hang lanterns on the moon.