How can someone say they love you, if they never ever hear you?
I would think they would long to hear your voice.
The cadence of anticipation.
The never ever way they would refuse to say goodbye.
How can someone say they love you, if they never ever feel your joy? Your pain?
The emotions that keep the nights too long and the days far too short.
The heart always breaking, like used china displayed in the corner cupboard.
How could that someone, possibly understand the chaos of the broken heart?
How can someone say they love you, if they never ever gaze into your eyes, under moonlight, in the quietest of times? Perhaps they are afraid of the reflection they might see.
Low tide, the taste of salt, the subliminal lure of space to fill with something more.
Stars in awareness, forever, seem endlessly kissing the nighttime sea.
Maybe love cannot be defined, in prose or rhyme or in this heart of yours or in mine.
Maybe love is what we are not, where we are not.
Maybe it is the absence of love that defines us.
And just maybe, if we are lucky once, love will come and find us.
Love is the intentional act of loving and coming back.
The tireless attention to detail of someone else.
But how can they do that if they have never experienced being loved themselves?
Art- Artist unknown