In the beginning,
you thought you knew
what love was.
We felt it;
that scorching, all-consuming excitement.
The thing that makes you think,
“This person is my everything.”
We were fools.
It was love, yes-
in it’s birthing stage.
Messy. Squalling. Ignorant.
I know that now.
If it had been stable love,
we would never have said
all those terrible things
we said to each other;
we would never have
treated each other so unspeakably.
There were times,
a good while later,
when you were not my favorite person.
In fact, I despised you.
I know.
I ask myself the same question:
“How can you loathe someone you love?”
Beats me.
But you can.
You felt the same at times.
I could see it when you wouldn’t look at me.
It didn’t feel like love anymore,
and we both doubted.
But then,
within the smoldering pile of ashes
left from our rabid inferno,
a single spark, a memory,
left us clinging to each other
in the midst of our woeful rhapsody.
The hurts healed,
slowly.
Sometimes painfully.
The ugly scars were made beautiful
because we knew the agony
of the recovery.
You didn’t look at me
the way you once did,
back in the infancy of Us.
I missed that,
but I was comforted
in the knowing that we chose Us.
That flame seemed cooler
than it once had been,
but more steady.
Instead of self-preservation,
we learned to
give ourselves away to one another.
We never even noticed
when our Selves melted into one.
I guess the blaze was hotter than we thought.
Now,
we are both wiser.
Love, you say?
I laugh.
We’ve barely scratched the surface
Before.
Sparklebumpsthebookwhore 