I love… love, too much (part 2)

I often rest my feet against this pavement

and spite the rain for confining me to this porch.

I rest my body against this open jail cell

and then use my pen as a torch…

…and then I write the world on fire.

I don’t understand why I find the need to write cynical poems before I post about loving love?

It’s a dam mystery to me, but I think I like it.

We left work early today because of the 4^th tomorrow. Everyone in the office seemed pretty pumped about getting out, and to be honest, I experienced my first moment of “writers block” since I started there so I wasn't exactly being really productive anyway.  I was on my way home when it started raining again… I know I've been away for a while but Jesus Christ! Does it just rain everyday in Rochester now?

I was still like 15 minutes away from my house, but I felt the pull of my porch so strong against my chest. It felt like some sort of heavy magnetic force, and I felt like pointless metal for those moments.  What does it mean to feel pointless you think? Don’t look at it in a depressing light, yet truly think about it logically, and understand how minimal we are. 

Carl Sagan once said: “Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot” This is thinking logically about it. But in response to, in my mind, one of the most brilliant things ever said, I realize that if you just accept how minimal everything is,, you then start to live a happier life.

Having said this, and accepting that we as people, as enemies, and of course as lovers all are tiny creatures of a truly unknown purpose… I would like to scream how amazing the things that appear to be so small can feel in this lifetime.

Going back to Sagan; he also once said: “You’re capable of such beautiful dreams, and such horrible nightmares. You feel so lost, so cut off, so alone, only you’re not. See, in all our searching, the only thing we've found that makes the emptiness bearable is each other” …These are purely beautiful words.

So, I’m here writing in the rain again. Well I actually am not exactly in the rain, I’m on the porch, but you get the point. I cannot stop thinking about love; it has consumed my mind like a disease I wanna fuck, and I’m constantly so badly lost its madness. But I have done this to myself and I’m okay with that, the only problem I have is when people tell me to stop searching for love.

I am not searching for love; I simply just understand what the word means. The word L O V E

cannot be found in a dictionary. It cannot be bought nor sold. It has been portrayed in movies and in books, but those things aren't real. The word L O V E was first written in moon dust by the fingertips of stars. It was first found burning to death in a sun that we have yet to find and then sent here to scorch us dry. The word L O V E is far from a word at all. Words are supposed to have definitions, but these four letters possess tidal waves of empty blood, filled with healing kisses and lost maps.

We turn pages of love to try and find what it once meant. But today, It is just so hard to find, and sometimes you do, but other times you're too afraid to let it touch you, to let it feel you, to let it breathe you in deep. It’s okay to be afraid, we are all scared. If you don’t feel a little bit of fear at the thought of something, it probably won’t be too fulfilling when you get it.

And as far as that everything is minimal and pointless babble I went on earlier, don’t disregard it, because I do truly believe that we are virtually meaningless if you look at the bigger picture. But If there is anything, anything at all in this lifetime that could give you meaning…

It is L O V E…. it always is and always was.