They asked,
“How do we live with someone who doesn’t love us?”
I thought: I don’t know.
Should we chase love?
Did we, across centuries, pursue lovers,
or did we hunger more for safety,
for stability?
I wondered:
is love, the head over heels,
the butterflies.
so destructive,
so uncertain,
that it kills,
that it plunders?
The purest form of love is not romantic.
It is surrender.
It is acceptance.
Love is work.
It is duty.
It is performance.
Perhaps even art.
And then you ask yourself:
does loving make you feel lighter,
or is not loving the greater liberation?
If we think it through, the world was not built by love.
Civilizations rose on conquest, power, survival.
Children were born without love,
Dynasties carved without tenderness.
And yes, love has toppled empires, broken kingdoms, ruined lives.
But still, wasn’t there something else?
Empathy, perhaps.
Care.
Which isn’t love.
Which is etiquette.
Which is survival.
Then maybe I’m right.
Maybe only God can love purely.
Without hunger. Without destruction.
And humans,
we stumble,
we mistake desire for love,
we mistake loneliness for longing.
Or it could be, me,
Whom is missing the embrace,
The caress in my forehead,
Who missed to be put in the highest throne,
By being desired.
Once more.
so on and on 