So I was inspired to write poetry this morning, haven’t been in forever, and love poetry no less. So I thought I would share it.
To be in love was to make her fragile.
To be in love was to be strong and weak in the same moment. To be loved made her strong but she knew she could so easily be broken.
Love was not constant, love evolved, it changed. Sometimes it was not even love in hindsight. Sometimes love was too much, sometimes it was not enough.
Love was sometimes unrequited, love sometimes turned into a sickness and crossed in to obsession.
Love was need, want, desire…it was losing yourself to become a new entity.
Love was scary, love was a risk.
Love was worth it.
She needed love, to love and to be loved.
To be in love.
And she was in love, she did love, she was loved.
If love ever died or changed she would have no regrets, for in this moment she knew love and love was to live.