for a moment of joy or moments no one pays for, i give myself a ‘jornal’. this makes me rich. try it.

Love–what is it, really?

For this insight, I give myself a ‘jornal’ of $550. Quite high, isn’t it? But a friend pointed out how true, how true it is. How much value will you tag how you feel after reading it?

Love should begin on a blank stare contrary to what everyone thinks it must. If eyes meet seeing worlds not visible there, only then does love start on a ‘supposed’ note and from this will spring a host of the unexpected.

Blind—that’s what lovers should be but not blind enough to recognize the first opening, the gesture that bids the soul to flight. For flight to me, is the beginning of love.

But only momentary flight. Lovers span time and space in each first moment. They make landmarks of ordinary places and things. The first smile, tender touch, kiss, the first word of love. Breathing is always breathless with young love. Words bind magically. Moments remain enchanted.

Yet if love were to last it can’t be young always. Lovers must will to end the flight. In the fall, lovers must recognize each other still — stripped, bared already scarred. Love turns quite ugly but solid, roughly hewn and darky like a rock. If lovers turn away then, then love does not exist.

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February 15, 2009 - Posted by | lyrical prose, reflection |

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