I fear the gift of love, for tis so fragile.
Love is so intense and so full, so delicate and intricate. Each waking moment, fulfils you; curves itself into you.
Like an addiction, it consumes you and feeds you. You nurture it, like a gentle lamb in your arms and shield it from all that try harm it. Life’s euphoric trance transcends all feeling.
Until it is lost. So that once there was foundations; now ruins remain and the faded echos of trust, safety and failure.
Love lost is life lost. Almost.
Love does not re-grow well in fields once ploughed nor does it flower again in such sincerity. Yet it does grow; smaller, slowly and patiently, more quietly and more beautifully. It’s roots bore deep down and it holds more firmly. Love