They say to write about what we know.
I know love.
I own love.
I give love.
So, “write about love,” I think.
The love I know is raw.
Unfiltered by rationale,
held together by imperfect people
who are okay with being imperfect
The love I know is platonic.
A word that doesn’t do this love any sort of
because it always holds me together,
lifts me up,
is the love I take most for granted.
The love I know is familial.
The longest relationship I’ve ever known,
transcending bodies and time and borders.
The love I know is strength.
bounces off walls I try to contain them in.
The love I know is changing.
Quiet on some days
and loud on others;
whispers in gratitude and shouts out its joy.
The love I know is a love I haven’t found yet–
is waiting in a bookstore or a coffeeshop
or a computer screen.
is patient, because it’s what I lack.
is used to being put on hold,
because it knows I have a lot of love
The love I know is our friendship,
is living a life I never planned for;
is life itself;
is me figuring it out
over and over again.