The Many Faces of Love.
I am entirely convinced that we will never know Love
because I have been met by Love on several occasions,
but each time Love has had a different face.
At age fifteen, I knew Love.
Love was a muscular frame wrapped in caramel skin.
who brought me Taco Bell to work,
and washed my hair after a long night of partying
and I had gotten sick.
And I knew this was love.
At age eighteen, after Love left,
I met someone who I knew wasn’t Love.
But I thought I needed to fill the void that Love had left in me
by replacing Love with another.
Love was my patient gardener,
who continuously watered and helped me grow,
and who filled the cracked spaces in me left by another.
At age nineteen, I no longer knew Love.
Love was a stranger,
much smaller because I later realized,
Love was in recovery,
When everything felt as though it was in shambles,
Love was there with open arms.
And Love too soon became a security blanket
I’d come to accustomed to relying on.
At age twenty, I avoided Love.
For as long as I can remember I have known Love,
Love was different than the others,
I always looked for the faults in Love:
The way Love walked, the way Love talked, Love entirely.
Love was always there, determined to show me genuinely who Love is,
and one day I looked Love in the eye and said,
“Hi, I’m Love.”
