separate but true

I believe that sometimes, you are happier than I am
that your world becomes lit up by what darkens mine
and that is the most separating force between us

It seems I have been conditioned to believe that there is only one type of love
a wholesome love that fills up every empty space,
a love that comes overflowing and enticing

but what I’ve now seen is that there are all types of love
love that only happens every once in a while
that comes in like the breeze of a passing metro train

love that reminds you of your core, that secures your very being and claims
“this is who you are, this is your identity’
other love that creeps up and blinds you, takes you from true being to a false
and furious uprising of ones initial ideologies
and that love comes only to later remind you
that there are some loves that aren’t worth feeling

but then again, I’ve also figured
I am sparingly able to choose what I feel
like the times when thought overwhelms
daydream, to the point of inexistence
and the whole idea that nothing is tangible
until I am validated by some type of

I’ll narrow it down here-
love, when godly is wholesome
love, when longing is different
love, when passionate is disabling

so love is not one great big exact thing
rather love has many facets and personalities
like an individual person split up by his ages
split up by his thoughts and desires

love is not simple
it is not one kind
it is not just once
it is not always wholesome
it is not always true
it is not always fulfilling
it is not always felt

and this brings me peace, somehow
because I know that I can live
without an impending conviction that love is not what it is supposed to be
because love is different in all seasons, in all perceptions
ever changing, ever growing

I speak not of the action of loving,
not of the cost of love
nor the gift of love

this is not a declared disbelief in the corinthians
this has nothing to do with the love of god

this is all about the earthly disdained feelings
when love assumes the title

this is a declaration, written for my anxieties
to calm my shaking nerves that claim king over me
I declare that not everything needs to be whole all the time
that in the midst of pieces of disorientation and true satisfaction
I can be at ease

It seems I have been conditioned to believe that there is only one type of life
a wholesome life that fills up every empty space,
a life that comes overflowing and enticing

but it is in the empty spaces that I can determine passion
it is in the lacking and overlooked places that love becomes more than a flat definition of perfection

I can be whole even when there are things missing
I can let all things become overflowing and enticing, overwhelming and I’ll regain a sense of place.. identity?
in the baking, growing, biting insecurities of love

now that I’ve thought this through,
love isn’t the right word at all


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