The thought of being vulnerable scares us so much that we would rather believe that love is not real.
It seems we have brought this isolation upon ourselves. With the way that we lie and cheat and steal,
the trust right out of a willing person's
hands.
And there is nothing more that we can do,
for love demands vulnerability.
That you sacrifice willingly you fears and insecurities,
your pain and the probability
that you will let them down.
Love commands us to lay our weapons down and surrender to peace.
And yet the irony is that we go to war
over love
for the wrong reasons.
We love in seasons,
off and on and off and on again.
Our wars never bring a satisfying end,
just a more devastating reality
that yet again we have failed and are left more broken than we care to be.
And so we try to prevent the inevitable by casting love away altogether,
As if we could do so much better without it.
And we become numb and indifferent,
and we pale in comparison
to those who have love and are loved.
The great writers of the last era say so much about love.
They list all of the wars fought,
and blood shed in its name.
The loved to write tragedy,
and gathered such fame
from writing the ins and outs
of the game of love.
Perhaps that is the problem?
Using the word game and love
in the same sentence,
saying that we can play with the heart and come out the same.
We treat love with either too much fear, naivety, or blame.
But love does not like to be toyed with,
and if you treat it like sand
flowing in and out of your hand,
it will scrape away at your skin until you are left with nothing but blood and bones and no heart left to stand.
For love commands respect, demands equality, and understands frailty.
So as a lesson in living life fully,
treat love with civility,
And be prepared to see
people not as you wish them to be,
but as they truly are,
And love will help you open your heart
to every wonder great and small.
SK
