For others it never comes at all
For some it feels like a warm wind ruffling through soft hair
For others, a dark cell in which they cannot escape
Is love a kindness bestowed on this earth for humankind to enjoy
Or is it a torturous plague for us to endure.
Some would say love is sweet
That it is hugs and kisses, and nights of endless laughter
That is: pain and misery, and nights of endless thoughts banging on the walls in my head
Some people say I cannot understand, for I have never been in love
I have found love, more times than I can count
But in people who do not, or can not requite
I have found love in one who hated me,
I have found love in one who had love in another,
And I have found love in the last, for which my heart has bled onto the floor
For which my throat grew course over the whisperings of “maybe, one day.”
Yet I know this day shall not come
This day is a fantasy I have made up in my own mind
The prison as I have mentioned is the four walls I have shared with him
It is the endless nights of proximity, without a hint of togetherness
It is the reason I think love is a cruel bitch
It warms others, provides them comfort and companionship
But for people like me it provides only isolation
It provides only hopes to be dashed upon the rocks of the ocean in which I am drowning
The cruelest of loves tricks is that it is unescapable
Try as you might to release its grasp upon your throat, you cannot lessen its grip
When you see them with another, the cold hands squeeze you tighter
When you feign happiness for the object of your affection, them finally feeling love’s grace
It forces the breath from your lungs and leaves you winded
Don’t be so cynical they tell you
Why must you hate something so beautiful
Must you bring sadness to a feeling that should be showered in love and light
Can’t you be joyful that they’ve found someone who warms their soul?
For I admit I’m the dark stain on your beautiful painting
But you are the stain on mine
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