You think you’re okay
and then, every once in a while,
you stumble upon that beautiful verse,
that disarming canvas of art,
that balmy air up the mountain,
and it just stops your heart.
Because you remember
what it was like to be in love!
To be irrevocably intoxicated,
unabashedly euphoric,
and hopelessly undone.

You think you’re content
and then, every once in a while,
you come across that rusty old photograph,
that rose embalmed in the yellowed book,
that neighborhood which feels like a home you lost,
and the wind knocks out of your lungs.
Because you remember
what it was like to be consumed in love!
To be unreservedly defenseless,
fiercely unafraid,
and entirely powerless in their stance.

You think you’re enough
and then, every once in a while,
someone undresses your soul with their words,
rattles your consciousness with their eyes,
and gravity betrays your knees.
Because you remember
who you were when in love!
The fire in your belly,
the hankering in your bones,
now reminiscences of solitude.

24 thoughts on “Without Love

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