The Glory of Love is My Favorite Oxymoron
Chapter One
Love was a word that had the impact of an atomic bomb.
It could turn your life upside down. It could make everything seem right.
Some days, it was a form the devil itself took on.
Other times, it was a simple Spring day, where you’d lie on your back and watch the clouds float by.
It was a disguise; an excuse; a justification; a time, place and date.
It was a person; a song; a gesture; an emotion.
It was a word.
Maybe it was a metamorphosis. It could take on the form of the one thing you truly feared.
That’s why so many people were scared to love – it meant exposing ourselves to our fears.
No one ever willingly wanted to do that.
More than often, love was a distance – or rather, a closeness. It determined how close you were with a person. It was a measurement, just like centimetres and tonnes – you could measure with love.
Love was different, and yet alike, to religion. You couldn’t truly believe in love, if nothing proved it existed. However, you could believe in its idea, but when it happened – when you saw or felt it – your faith was tested.
Maybe that’s just how the world worked. Maybe everything was a simile and a comparison for something.
The bottom line, you ask?
The bottom line is if you wanted it to be, love was nothing more than a four-lettered, one syllable word.
That was one thing love could offer to your desires.
It could turn your life upside down. It could make everything seem right.
Some days, it was a form the devil itself took on.
Other times, it was a simple Spring day, where you’d lie on your back and watch the clouds float by.
It was a disguise; an excuse; a justification; a time, place and date.
It was a person; a song; a gesture; an emotion.
It was a word.
Maybe it was a metamorphosis. It could take on the form of the one thing you truly feared.
That’s why so many people were scared to love – it meant exposing ourselves to our fears.
No one ever willingly wanted to do that.
More than often, love was a distance – or rather, a closeness. It determined how close you were with a person. It was a measurement, just like centimetres and tonnes – you could measure with love.
Love was different, and yet alike, to religion. You couldn’t truly believe in love, if nothing proved it existed. However, you could believe in its idea, but when it happened – when you saw or felt it – your faith was tested.
Maybe that’s just how the world worked. Maybe everything was a simile and a comparison for something.
The bottom line, you ask?
The bottom line is if you wanted it to be, love was nothing more than a four-lettered, one syllable word.
That was one thing love could offer to your desires.