Thursday 28 October 2021

Iubire, am plecat,

Nu te-am uitat,

Dar o voi face în curând,

Șterg amintirile cu tine rând pe rând.

Iubire, am lăsat cafeaua pe birou

Și-am pus cearșafuri proaspete din nou,

Să doarmă-n ele mâine un alt eu

Pe care-l vei iubi cu-adevărat, ca pe un zeu.

Iubire, am udat și florile în locul tău,

Poate-ți vei aminti că întunericul le face rău,

Poate pe ele le vei ocroti ca să nu moară,

Chiar dacă ofilirea lor n-o să te doară.

Iubire, ți-am scris astăzi „Te iubesc!” ultima dată

Și te-am pupat pe fruntea încruntată,

De-acum n-o voi mai face, îți promit,

Ce-a fost odată ca-n povești fără să știu a luat sfârșit.

Iubire, am plecat!

Nu stau, n-aștept s-ajung uitat.

Plec astăzi să îmi caut sufletul pereche,

Plec să îmi caut înger vieții să îmi stea de veghe.

1 comment

  1. Sometimes love sneaks up on you. It’s hard to say for sure, but I think that’s my favorite kind of love. That sneaky love. That unexpected love.

    Then again, I’m the type of person who likes surprises. So maybe that’s why.

    There’s that adage about love being patient and kind, but that statement is sometimes false. Sometimes love is impatient. Sometimes you do need to hurry for love. You need to act, right now, real quick, make your choice. You get only one shot and you might not get it again, so go for it. Say hi. Flirt. Dance. Blurt out the words. Kiss.

    Love is not always kind either. Sometimes love is harsh. Sometimes it’s a brutally honest truth. Sometimes it’s tough love. Sometimes you do things for someone and they say, “I hate you” but you do it because you love them. I’m not saying this is healthy, but this is what love is. Sometimes.

    Love is not all or nothing. It’s not black and white. Most of the time, it’s totally gray. There’s no right and wrong. There are no rules. There’s no book that will tell you what to do, even though there are lots of books that claim to do so. Only you can ever know. Only you can decide how you love. Your love is not my love.

    Love ebbs and flows and ebbs and flows.

    It’s not an achievement or a goal. It’s an action. It’s a choice. But, also, sometimes it’s this feeling that you just can’t control. And sometimes that’s good and sometimes that’s bad.

    Sometimes you love when you really don’t want to. Sometimes you want to love, but you just can’t.

    You can’t manufacture love. Or coerce it. Love is wise. It won’t fall for your tricks or for shiny things. Love doesn’t give a fuck what kind of car you drive.

    You can love someone you don’t even really like. Loving is different than liking. But it is nice when you like and love at the same time.

    Love does all sorts of crazy things to your brain chemistry. If you think of love like that — as chemicals, mere atoms and molecules— what does it even mean to be in love? Like, there’s some person out there in the world who makes your neurons fire. Imagine that. You see them with your eyes and your optic nerve sends some signal to your brain and your brain releases some chemical into your whole body that says you love this person.

    Or it could be their odor. Their touch. Some physical thing detected by your senses that makes you feel love.

    That’s crazy, isn’t it?

    Love makes you protective. A little selfish maybe. Because once you have it, you don’t want to lose it. Love can make you fight. Love is aggressive like that.

    Love is not sex and sex is not love. These are two entirely separate things that somehow get all intertwined when they shouldn’t. Occasionally, though, the combination of the two is pretty magical.

    Love requires effort. It needs to be nourished. Or else, one day, you might wake up and realize the love is all gone.

    Sometimes that just happens no matter what you do: the love ebbs.

    And then love hurts. Love can be the worst thing you’ve ever felt. It can be a heavy knot you carry around in your chest and it feels like it’s squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter. And then you implode. Or you shatter. Or you crumble slowly into a pile of bits. It leaves you so broken you despise love. You feel like a fool for having ever loved at all. Love can dupe you like that.

    Love can be angry. And sad. And empty.

    It can be cold.

    But, also, it can be so hot. It can be stifling.

    Ideally, love is somewhere in between the hot and cold.

    Maybe ideal love is all about the balance. I don’t know. I don’t know that much yet.

    Love makes you think about all the possibilities. There are so many. Love turns you into a daydreamer. It can be a huge distraction, actually. You might find yourself writing poetic prose about love on any random Monday afternoon just because something about love has suddenly struck you.

    It’s cliché to say, but love is found in adventures. Love itself is not always an adventure. Sometimes love is downright boring. But even boring love is nice because it’s comforting, it’s reliable. But love needs adventures, too. The adventures nourish the love. They make it tangible. They fortify the love. They remind you of what love is if you needed a reminder.

    Maybe the strangest thing about love is how just when you think you’re starting to understand it, it changes in some way or throws a wrench at you and you realize it’s a more complex thing than you ever imagined. Maybe it’s bigger than you thought. Or smaller. Maybe it’s funny. Maybe it’s ironic. Maybe it’s a huge challenge and you don’t know what to do about it. The good news is: you will learn something. Love is an excellent teacher. And it teaches lessons you won’t ever forget. It brands them into the underside of your skull. Or your heart. Or maybe your gut. I’m not sure. But it’s somewhere deep inside you, that’s where the love lessons live.

    Along with the surprising love, my other favorite love is the giggling love. Love should make you giggle. I’m pretty certain of that part. I like the authentic smile love, too. Not all smiles are authentic, but love smiles are. And I love the caressing love. The gentle touch love. The whispery love. The when you roll over in the morning and boom, it’s right there, love. The watching fireflies together love.

    (That’s a new one I just discovered. That last one. I like it a lot.)

    Okay, I think that’s most of what I know about love. So far anyway. There’ll be more. Lots and lots more.

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