Love is

A weighty substance.


What is it made of and

Where does it come from?


Why is it for one and not the other?

And why can’t we choose?


It’s truth and meaning are hidden in mystery,

It’s pain evident in lies and tears.


How do we know when it starts?

Is there a moment when one can say “yes, love has begun”?


I think there is a warming glow, an inner heat and smoothness

To love’s beginning but


When it ends… then want?

I cry for wanting him, he cries for not wanting me.


Our grief is an odd mixture of sadness, anger and joy because after all,

Love and hate are just opposite ends of the same emotion,


One that can turn on a dime and oscillate endlessly

Between the ends all in the space of a second.


When he stood before me that last time, for just those few seconds,

The world around us disappeared and he was all there was.


My heart stopped as the magnitude of the reality

Of his absence outside of those seconds filled me.


As I watched him walk away, I felt the warmth of my love, my heart’s

Blood, drain through my feet and follow him like a shadow.


But he left it in the parking lot,

Unwanted and rejected as he drove away.


I saw it melt into a puddle behind him

Where it waited for me to gather it up and take it home.


Where did this love for him come from? I don’t know,

If I knew I would send it back as


It has not served me well. It was based on a dream,

An impossible, beautiful dream but


One that was flawed, and although I didn’t realize it, it never had a chance,

Because he and it were damaged goods right from the start.