I’m a hopeless romantic. I think I get it from my mother. She too, was a romantic… actually, she still is.
I’ve loved a thousand times. Each one, each time… love takes on a new meaning. A new form. I love hard. Maybe it’s the Scorpion in me but I just can’t help it. I feel things deeply, maybe more than most.
I slip through the lines between them, like sand in an hourglass. I’m wise enough now to know the difference. Which one I prefer.
What I haven’t quite figured out, is the type of love that I love best.
Was it young love? Starry eyed and blind. Naive and full of eternal promises. Like a hot air balloon. Buoyant and beautiful but always destined to fall.
Was it toxic love? When my taste for both manipulation and sex collided to allow me a rare opportunity — to both love and hate at the same time. The place where I found the devil in his eyes and God in his hands. That place I loved. Fuck, I loved that place.
Was it a secure love? How you feel when the laundry comes out of the dryer and it’s warm, and soft and clean. Where the same thing you had today, is the same thing you’ll have tomorrow. But it’s beautiful and wonderful and… safe. So much so that you hand him off to the arms of another in hopes that she’ll keep him that way.
Was it the stubborn love? The kind you abandon all logic and reason for. The love that must be reaffirmed in a daily attempt to rectify all that has been wronged. The love that must be etched into your skin to serve as a reminder that this is — the one I chose. I can’t be wrong. I can’t be wrong. I can’t be wrong.
And when the sun came out and I saw the day once more… we signed the papers.
Was it chance love? Like a wildfire. He, this exotic creature that made me fall in love with love all over again. The kind that wakes a wild beast living somewhere within. The kind that makes you spread your wings to find that the most unruly places are the most to be desired. The kind of man that you love and you fuck and you leave. Like the Romans. Like a dream. Like it almost never happened.
I’ve loved many times. But yet, there is one that evades me. Some devine kind of love that completes me. Created for me. Made for me. Like the clouds that rest over the mountaintops. Coexisting. Perfectly coexisting. The kind that permeates your soul. Where your mind can rest. Morning sex. Banana pancakes. A love of all loves. Where you close your eyes and you know that place called home resides in the heart of another.
The kind of love that brings peace.