Some see love as pats on the head at each of life's milestones, but I want my love to spread through society's cracked bricks like
warm-watered medicine for the overlooked.
My lens will spot the free hearts taking shape. My purview will capture the connection-driven hug between child and adult.
My point-of-view will widen as I taste the fruit from a worn-out basket.
Oh yes, society, I give you this. This love. The love I cherish.
The buckling of a swing set chain as a child shouts to be pushed higher will strengthen the understanding of my identity.
The accepting half-smile from a peer on the other side of the dance circle will extend my handshake of social connections.
Silence proving that the other person on the first date is still there will encourage my next second of vulnerability.
The awkwardness of telling a co-worker how I feel about them will lay a carpet of respect we both can walk on.
Going back to the state of mind I was in before a negative exchange with a store clerk will remind me that the roots of my past no longer flare my unconscious.
This is not a love that sells, it's a love that's discovered, and discovered love is an earned love, and earned love is a forever love.
Being delighted because a stranger's silhouette reminds me of a friend—is happiness that took a friendship to build.
A freshly healed and still sensitive emotional wound receiving the breath of new life like yellow grass after a rock's been removed— knows the broken crust of several comfort zones.
My vibrations earning a friendly look from a passerby took several mornings of good moods.
Catching myself deep in conversation about a genuine interest with an unlikely acquaintance begins with me thinking of something other than myself.
Intuition shining a flashlight on the darkness of a new relationship tells me I've been taking the universe's cues.
An adult daughter learning what she was like as a baby from her proud mother is self-discovery while holding hands.
Friends of different generations laughing over the things they all experienced tightens the ropes on the bridge of life's crossroads.
It's where I look that determines what I see, and when I open my eyes I'm free.
See society, you don't get to tell me what type of love I can express. That rhythm of output is as human of a choice as what words to use, what foods to eat, or where to sleep.
If there is no holiday for this love, then I will make one; forge a path through society's tired, withered twigs with this outlook as my fuel.
Finding a lover may be what humans do, but finding the love in humans is what lovers do.