There's an old poem on love and life without-
A classic really! And a very boring one at that.

You know the kind only the wise would fall for?
Yes, that.

But take me for a fool, the one that I am, for I can't find you in it.
Neither within the metaphors nor the words that I'm so much in love with.

What you are to me is its very last line, where all of it comes to an end-
When I can finally turn the page and hope only for a better indulgence of time.

The world is like that one old poem on love and life without- and you, my dear, are its very last line.

“What if we go on,” he said, “only to more pain and despair? What if we go on, only to find a horrible end waiting for us?”

“Then it is not the end.”

You pointed out
all my favorite love stories begin in hatred
an offhand comment about the books and shows
I consume like air

I realized there's nothing I want more
then for someone to see me for my worst
pick apart every negative attribute

yet still promise to love me
all of me

A wise woman once said she’d like to be defined by the things she loved.
Not the things she hates or fears or the things that haunt her.
This idea very much stuck to me.

This is my attempt at defining myself by the things I love or the things I find love in.

I love the sound of ocean water hitting the shore.
I have never been more at peace than I am at a beach.
I can freely think, freely breathe.
I can just be free.
I think the ocean is love.

I find love in good morning and good night texts.
They may be meaningless to some,
a nuisance to others,
but to me it’s the purest form of endearment.
I can’t look at a good morning or good night text and not smile.
I think those texts are love.

I love and find love in music.
I would go through hell as long as at the end, there was a good song.
I love to sing my favorite songs at the top of my lungs
and can’t help but tap my finger to my least favorites.
I think music is love.

I love books.
Even with the worst books, I love the lessons they had to offer.
I love the time put into writing it.
I love the time I put into reading it.
I love starting to read a book at 9am and blinking to find out it’s now 9pm.
I think books are love.

It’s so easy to get wrapped up in what I hate,
even easier to get ******* in what I fear,
sometimes I forget love is a thing.
I don’t want to live like that.
I want to continue to love and find love in things.
I am a lover, not a fighter and some may hate that cliche
but you know what, I love it.

I think being a lover is love and that may be redundant but maybe, just maybe, I love that too.

See me now,
So you can’t picture me later.
Let the blue light move across my vinyl skin.
Trace the slew of whispered pros down my spine,
too soft to hear.
Pull my hair until you tear out the pages that I won’t read you,
Because I won’t read you.

I’m fine with watching the movie and never reading the book.
Maybe skimming the first few pages, then leaving the rest to collect dust on the nightstand...
Without so much as a bookmark.

For now, our legs on cotton sheets are moving on the screen.
A flash of images refracts into our minds,
only to be lost by next week.
A predictable plot.
No suspense of a next chapter.
No rich velvet of ink on our eyes.
They say the written word is dead,
But I don’t know…
maybe someday I’ll try to read something…
But not tonight-

Hit Play.