I knew a woman who talked with her hair. Whenever she would get close to the end of a story, which for her was always the heart of a story, she would reach back her hands and, without even realizing it, start braiding up her long, radiant brown hair, pulling the braid up, up and then around the top of her head. When her stories ended she would always be wearing a shining crown.
Listening to her talk took a certain amount of toughness because she spoke with an unblunted tongue. People who didn't really know her sometimes thought that she was a man hater because when she took men to task, it was on a planetary level. But that's because they didn't know her.
When she loved a man, she would love him so hard that whenever she looked at him the air itself would change its nature just for her. It would became so charged with light where it touched him that she could see right through him without even realizing it, like he was made out of tissue paper. And so whenever she looked at him, without even realizing it, she would not be able to tell the difference between what he was revealing to her and what he was trying to hide.
This got many of her boyfriends confused because they'd never read about anything like this on a Hallmark card. How could a search light be love?
But love should not be called just 'love'. It's so much more than simply that. You wouldn't call one flight the life of a bird, or one mumble the whole story, or one stumble the whole journey.
We are walking through the darkness with unlit candles in our hands, trying to discover the land of flint and tinder.
I knew a man who collected hearts, trying to fill the space inside his own heart where his father's love should have been. Over the years he managed to collect some 37 varieties of hearts, including a few truly rare specimens like the celestial 'Dusty Blue Shadow Buster', and the luminous 'Fading Dream Jump Starter' and the controversial (but oh, so irresistible) 'Burning Alive And Loving Every Minute Of It'. But the rarest heart of all eluded him, his own heart filled with self love. Because when you try to make that leap and give yourself more love than your parents did, it almost feels like betrayal.
This got many of his friends confused. How could an empty space be love?
But love should not be called just 'love'. It's so much more than simply that. You wouldn't call one flight the whole bird, or one fear the whole man, or an empty space the whole heart.
We are walking through the darkness with unlit candles in our hands, trying to discover, the land of flint and tinder.
I knew a little girl who watched her stubborn parents stumble apart, but managed to hold them together in the only way she could. Her parents now live in separate states, but they also remain in a state of love, held together forever inside the shelter of her tiny, stubborn, unfaltering heart.
This got all her grownup friends confused. How could the stubbornness of a child be love?
But love should not be called just 'love'. It demands so much more strength than simply that. You don't call one flight the life of a bird or one fall the life of a flight. We are walking through the darkness with unlit candles in our hands. We are learning to rediscover the land of flint and tinder. Love should not be called just 'love'. Love should be called 'brave'.