I am asked a lot,
Why I write about love and love lost,
Why I am so comfortable with it.
I find love is the one thing we can all relate to. Whether you have ever loved, or were loved, or felt loved, or wished and yearned for it; we all can relate to it.
Be it the pain, the joy, the void it leaves behind, the ache it incites, the heart it excites, everything about it. It discriminates not. It just loves. And I love that about it.
It is strong. It loves when it is hard. It loves where it is unwanted. It continues to love even after it’s been broken.
Although it is often mistaken for excitement, lust and infatuation, it remains true to itself. Once it is there, it is usually there to stay.
Because it is love.
It hasn’t mastered anything else but the art of love.
I don’t know if I can say I have loved in my short life, but I think I did.
I don’t know if I can confidently say I have been loved either,
But I do think I was loved, genuinely, at some point.
Love is often hated, because … well, who knows?
I sure don’t hate love.
I mean, love is love!