When I Understood Love

When I was younger,

the look of Love felt different.

As I looked at him, 

he seemed innocent.

I never doubted his methods.

I trusted them wholeheartedly.

As I grew, Love became mysterious

like a plan I was never made aware of.

At some point, I had to face him 

head on with fear seeping in my being

but his smile alone 

reassured me into caving.

I felt Love of no bounds.

It was heavy yet weighted like air.

It was wondrous yet so blinding.

It was free yet painful.

I relied on Love

a little too much, I admit.

I saw it as my cure for all

despite not being my all for one.

I used to view him as

a simple painting of a state.

What state?

A motionless moving state.

State of what?

State of matter.

State of mind.

State of soul.

With my first battle with Love,

I understood how complexly 

and utterly wrong I was.

Love was a canvas of colliding colours

taking the form of all shapes 

and noises to be heard.

It was a street in the middle 

of a forest quietly loud.

Love was not an entity.

Love was not a person.

Love was a living

language yet extinct.

Love was a room echoed

and steep with objects.

Love was a word spoken 

yet never said out loud.

It lived in everything 

yet stayed in nothing.

It was a rhythm of 

unsettled notes and chords.

I looked into Love’s eyeless stare 

and smiled sadly.

I knew I would never understand it

but it would always understand me.

I fell in love with Love 

and fantasized silently.

A curve stitched on my face

unknowingly looking forward to feeling.

Love was a cursed nothing

yet everything 

that I didn’t know if I wanted 

or needed to stay away from. 

All I knew is that I would find it 

and once again,

find my heart beating with

the lonely happiness of feeling.