What is it, Love?
An Effort
“What do you want me to do? What it is that you truly want me to do? It is not by happenstance, it is happening.
Haven’t you seen this already? Haven’t this happened already? So, why are you so scared of the eventual, tell me? I want to understand.
I can look at you. I can try to see you. But, I cannot in my sweetest dreams even make an effort to say that I know you completely, as if you are my blood and soul integrated inside me like my organs which keep me alive.
I am making an effort. Or must I say, I am in an eternal effort to love you fully and in a way, that soothes the soul and bathes the body in beautiful bliss. Of what it is the limit to which a man should pursue his love interest. And then let that interest bloom into infinity.
Tell me, for I am not capable. A woman’s mind has no man ever known. But, an effort should still be made. I stand here, therefore, not for the sake of the yore that yawned at another effort to do it again. I stand here in the sun of sin that mars my banal existence and banishes me to the hell of heinous thoughts because I love.
I won’t therefore think. I think, therefore, I am. I am, therefore, I love you, I must say.
Tell me before the reaper knocks on my door and take me away from you, my love? How should one love completely and truly? How should one be?
Or one should just fear the eventuality of the nefarious plans of nature to neuter the knot that I want to tie between us. Tell me. For I want to know finally. Oh, love. My love.”
