there has been a question that, for the longest time, i had fears of asking. i have always known how critical i am, especially with myself, and though answering this question may come so easy or so simple to many, it is not too so with me. i always believe to always answer truthfully, honestly, and unless i can qualify, quantify, justify my answers, then i rather avoid the question altogether, lest make an erroneous, even worse, a false answer.
what is love?
the question hurts for though my mind and my faith and even life experiences can give me many ways of responding, i cannot, in my opinion give a solid answer. i may have accounts of it, ideas of it, stories of it, but if i were to extract from my own personal experiences, then i feel i draw from a deep and empty well. i don't think i am love-less. i however feel that my mind often, sad as it is for me to admit, get in the way of feeling. maybe when made to draw from my well, i do so with the slotted basket of my mind, always open to suggestion or to new thought, never really tightly grasping onto rather complex and profound ideas such as love.
i often shudder at the thought, often when lost in deep introspection. my deeper self would ask how much do i love and i always find myself at a lost for words. i am caught speechless ever time, and the weight that i often carry myself, always severe, always calculating, would suddenly get dropped and i am left without defense, naked, frail and bare, vulnerable to the harsh reality of my shallow existence, subject to my own chastising now of never learning to appreciate, enjoy, cherish the many affections that come my way. that i had allowed myself to even have these pass me by, fall through the cracks of my slotted basket, into the deep well that is my unquenchable heart. what then, my deeper voice would ask eventually, would you offer when it is your turn to love? when you have nothing but empty gesture, hollow thoughts, and vanity to your credit.
my mind is a powerful, yet a dangerous thing. but i am slowly learning, that the heart can be as well.
in the quiet moments of my reverie, on the rare occasions when my mind is exhausted, my heart quivers. it skips, even if a little to the dream of having you wrapped with my arms, your read resting on my chest, your body's weight pressing on mine, and for the very few occasions, my body relinquishes its need to be strong and allow itself to be lost in your small power. how lovely it is drown in you, that i do not struggle but feel an overwhelming sense of rest. it is death in its sweetest form. a lovely execution, smothered by your affection, suffocated in your tenderness. i could stay here forever, until my mind awakens again and he slowly leads me away, loosening my embrace, tightening again the reins.
what is love? i know a little bit of it now. my mind tells me of its greatness but i once had nothing to substantiate it, that was, until i once again find myself falling, quickly, gently back into you, deep into your overflowing well. there is love. i hope you find it in me too.
what is love?
the question hurts for though my mind and my faith and even life experiences can give me many ways of responding, i cannot, in my opinion give a solid answer. i may have accounts of it, ideas of it, stories of it, but if i were to extract from my own personal experiences, then i feel i draw from a deep and empty well. i don't think i am love-less. i however feel that my mind often, sad as it is for me to admit, get in the way of feeling. maybe when made to draw from my well, i do so with the slotted basket of my mind, always open to suggestion or to new thought, never really tightly grasping onto rather complex and profound ideas such as love.
i often shudder at the thought, often when lost in deep introspection. my deeper self would ask how much do i love and i always find myself at a lost for words. i am caught speechless ever time, and the weight that i often carry myself, always severe, always calculating, would suddenly get dropped and i am left without defense, naked, frail and bare, vulnerable to the harsh reality of my shallow existence, subject to my own chastising now of never learning to appreciate, enjoy, cherish the many affections that come my way. that i had allowed myself to even have these pass me by, fall through the cracks of my slotted basket, into the deep well that is my unquenchable heart. what then, my deeper voice would ask eventually, would you offer when it is your turn to love? when you have nothing but empty gesture, hollow thoughts, and vanity to your credit.
my mind is a powerful, yet a dangerous thing. but i am slowly learning, that the heart can be as well.
in the quiet moments of my reverie, on the rare occasions when my mind is exhausted, my heart quivers. it skips, even if a little to the dream of having you wrapped with my arms, your read resting on my chest, your body's weight pressing on mine, and for the very few occasions, my body relinquishes its need to be strong and allow itself to be lost in your small power. how lovely it is drown in you, that i do not struggle but feel an overwhelming sense of rest. it is death in its sweetest form. a lovely execution, smothered by your affection, suffocated in your tenderness. i could stay here forever, until my mind awakens again and he slowly leads me away, loosening my embrace, tightening again the reins.
what is love? i know a little bit of it now. my mind tells me of its greatness but i once had nothing to substantiate it, that was, until i once again find myself falling, quickly, gently back into you, deep into your overflowing well. there is love. i hope you find it in me too.
1 comment:
wow that's insightful, complex, and sweet rawr!
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