What is love I ask if it is not shared? A rose that withers and decays before claiming its rightful place in the garden. Never seeing its own reflection through the eyes of another. In truth, it cannot be contained for it begs to engrave its name across the sky. So that whenever sorrow tries to erase its memory, it won’t succeed. For the sweet taste of its story lives on in the dreams of its beloved ones. The arms of love are powerful. At times tender as a dove, but forever mighty as an eagle. They spread out to shield the weak with wings of compassion and lift the broken-hearted high above the clouds of misery, into the light of day. Only the vain and foolish sit waiting for love’s invitation. Insisting that it will come knocking on their door. They are blind to love’s purpose and deaf to its call. For true love wears a garment of sacrifice and the crown of a humble servant. In truth, love holds no value if fear prevents its declaration. Yet to the faithful, whose desire is to reflect the One who first loved them, such love is priceless!
So, what is love I ask if it is not shared? Dare I say, merely an imitation.