What's The Word?

Love starts with a cry, a baby’s cry. And then the baby is held and it’s loved. Love always ends with a tear.

A little boy or a little girl is loved by both the mother and father. Or the child may be loved by the mother more than the father, or vice versa. Or it may not be loved at all. Except by God.

Men of great wealth have given away all their worldly possessions for love, only to never find or receive the love they needed and wanted so badly.

The poor so often have only their love to give, and when they receive love, it fills them with a richness no wealthy man can understand.

Love is always with us, but so many are afraid to show their feelings. They’re so desperately afraid exposing themselves. Love, true love, does make you terribly vulnerable.

Love is strong and yet it’s so terribly delicate – like a fine and rare pieces of sparkling glass, it can shatter before your eyes. How many times we’re laughed at, for what we share our love with. Our animals, the flowers we look at on a sunny day, birds nesting, an old tree that has stood through three generations, some old toys, photographs of us when we were young, that old attic or basement that’s still full of a lot of memories – we loved them all.

I wonder if love, a great and beautiful love, ever stops? And if it does, why? And does one have the power to rekindle it, bring it back to what it was?

It’s always been fascinating to me that there are so many different kinds of love. Most people love and long for peace. Still others love war. Many – too many – people, love hate, violence, the sight of blood. Some people love to see other people twist and squirm in the presence of others. Many love the real and incredible feeling of touching, holding, of another.

So many people not only enjoy, but truly love dressing up and pretending they’re anybody but who they really are.

People love to be told how much they’re loved. There must be a few, I hope only a few, who love to be hated, in fact, thrive on it.

People often speak of an “undying love” for one another. My, what strength lies in that phrase! I wonder if I’ve known that kind of love?

Is love always with you? Is it always part of you, day in, day out, or does it come and go? It’s true I question what true love is all about. Just about the time I think I’ve found the answer, it slips through my fingers. Real love should be so warm, pleasant, easy, wonderful; then why is there so much attached to it?

How much do you want to be loved? A lot? Sometimes? A little bit? Till the end of time? Would you love me for now? For now is all I’m sure of.

Don’t ever love when it’s convenient. Never hide your love, you just might be a better actor than I bargained for.

Love is only four letter words, but maybe someday it will be a bigger word. I think it should be, it’s overpowering. I want that word, selfishly, to be huge.