Question? May 29, 2008
When looking into the abyss - surely it’s not supposed to wave back?
When you think of love, what comes to mind? A feather? Butterfly kisses? A colour? A scent? A particular person or place? A particular time, or season? A particular song?
To me love is a composite of all of these things, and more, an ever shifting, multi-faceted kaleidoscope, of light, and sound, and taste and feel. The smell of the earth after the spring rains. The blue of the sky on a cold Highveld morning. The sun reflecting off of an azure blue sea. A fiery sunset. A baby’s gurgle. A nightingale’s song. Puppy’s breath. Baking bread. A field of wild flowers. A daisy chain. The crisp, freshly minted smell trapped between the pages of a new book. The silences between the tick and the tock of the clock. The spaces between words. Jasmine in bloom. The green of water hyacinth. Snow. The way a genuine heartfelt smile reflects not only on the mouth, but in the eyes. Ice. Chilli. Feeling full, like there’s a ribbon, a river, a rainbow of colour and light waiting to escape from inside you. Happiness so vast, it’s more than your heart can hold. The sound of children laughing. The way your heart skips a beat when he says your name. How soft it sounds in his mouth. The heat and glow from a banked fire. Humility. Respect. Camaraderie. Rose petals scattered by a summer breeze. Crosses carried, burdens shared. A kitten’s purr. The whisper and sigh of the wind. The rasp of his stubble on your cheek. Cocoa beans. Marshmallows roasted on an open log fire. Kisses stolen. Kisses freely given. Ballet shoes. How, when he laces his fingers through yours, you can’t tell where he ends, and you begin. The lace trimming on a wedding dress. Old sepia photographs, taken long ago. Loyalty. The clamour of passion, the roar of blood through the veins, hunger, release. Friendship. The tremulous sparrow beat of his heart against your chest. Seeing a man’s eyes fill with tears on his granddaughter’s wedding day, because she reminds him of the bride he married fifty years before. A scattering of stars, nestled in velvet. Devotion, unceasing, unrelenting. Unconditional acceptance. Old love letters, carefully preserved, tied with a scarlet satin bow. Secret places. The knowledge that here, you belong. The smell of his scent on your skin. The oh so familiar contours left by his head, on your pillow. Comfortable silences. The whispered refrains of love.
There’s so much more to love than just a red heart, don’t you think?
