I was told love is that cosy-comfy thing, that makes your world extra pink and fuzzy. I don’t know where I picked the notion that love was about googly eyes, cotton candies and romantic words. Love I knew, tucked you in your bed with a remote to watch a prime time TV show. Love gave unconditionally, and in turn loved you some more.
Living in those romantic chick flicks, I never learnt anything different from what I already knew, so when I finally met you, love seemed askew.
You pulled me out of warm home, to the cold and high place, you made me look down the deepest valleys, with fresh air brushing against my face. You threw me in the deepest waters, demanding that I learnt to swim, for you knew, how much I wanted to feel the rush, but never got around doing the real thing.
If I felt you did not care, for you never said a word, I always found your hand on the shelf, just above my head. You did not say sweet nothings when I did not feel so well, you nudged me, poked me, pushed me to fight it, instead. You let me fall, you let me rise, never picking me off the ground. if I ever thought you did not care, you were always there, watching me, I just had to look around.
For my love, I learnt what was the truth. Love’s not soft, loves not cuddly, it doesn’t write no songs. Love’s ferocious, love’s violent, still can last so long. It’s no pink, neither fuzzy, its Red and beats the passion down the heart. Love is a commitment, needs the strength, so can’t be given a blind start.
**Only text is mine, image is thankfully borrowed from Fabio’s F-zimba Photo stream..