A letter to myself as I shall be single, again, this Valentine's. Mostly by choice, but I am beginning to question myself a little. Just a teeny bit.
The first time you fall in love, it will feel intoxicating. Like sunbeams on the moon’s skin, you will stay radiant even when the dark of night appears. You will bet your life that it will last forever. Indeed it will, but only in a cautionary tale that hope and faith do not resuscitate that which is already stiff in death.
Love, I have learnt, morphs and evolves into what you need in that season. Love is not a single-faced playing card. Love is all cards in the tarot deck and a kaleidoscope. Reflecting what she receives and giving a more beautiful token of grace in return.
Love can be reckless- mine has often been. Yet still, love takes no debts. No bridges are burnt, only forgotten for a bit.
Boxed up and put on a shelf, leaving weeds to grow around the pathways formed over troubled waters. They do not calm the rioting despair swirling within the waves but exist instead inside of them.
Love exists in the silence of words unsaid as pungent as it does in words spoken and actions professed with pride. Like the sun and moon, love helps the other exist by sharing light and space.
So, I know the intrusive gaze of the sun over our days as affection. I know the shrinking of the moon as care because the stars, like us all, need extra attention on some nights of the year.
Love is the full spectrum of emotions. Joy, in finding someone who wishes they could fix the world so you can feel safe in it again. Peace, in cuddles from your pet. Pain, in knowing love could leave in the time it takes you to breathe in again.