Love Question Why

Why question love, my love,

Do you ever?

Since but a youngling, a soapy clumsy bubble,

I have wondered what love is,

Even before, my love, I knew that there was even such a thing,

I searched knowing not what I was searching for,

I felt, my love, that you must be there, must be aware of us.

I have often fumbled, my love, in my quest to touch your love,

Feeling through the isolated dark within,

Questioning in the way adults have taught,

Only to realise sometime later that I had it right,

 Too late it seems, as I get ahead of myself love,

Wishing that I understood you love – better, so much better,

Such that I would no longer question,

That which I am sure of,

Even if I only recently rediscovered it,

And I would see you as you are, incredibly as you are,

And not feel a need to contain you, own you or even explain you?

I am but an old oak constantly shedding its acorns and leaves,

Gems of wisdom falling unheard to the earth,

Experiences blowing shamefully through the wind,

Only to disappear into nowhere,

As if they never happened,

Fantasies, dreams, wishes and hopes,

They have all haunted me in my quest for you,

My love,

And always when I seem to have finally grasped you love,

You abandon me without caveat or reason, it seems,

Only seems, for that is what you are, seeming?

Isn’t it?

You are not always, but are,

Never forever but fascinatingly so,

Unknown but known,

Just a feeling as real as the echo of when you are gone,

You understand me like no other, my love, even if I often falter,

For I am for you,

And without you I do not know what I would do…

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