I do not yet understand what I feel.
I can not possibly fathom what stirs inside me or even give it a name.
Someone passing by may call it love. But who can really be sure? And who really knows?
Throughout our lives, love is seen and felt and heard and soaked up in most areas of our hearts, our souls, our minds.
So, is this same love now in the very fiber of what makes me who I am today?
Is it worth truly exploring?
With a lump in my throat, I try to find ways to preoccupy my time.
I look, I listen, I read all that I can without allowing my mind to wander on the subject of love, of which I do not understand.
To me, love is fickle. It comes. It goes. It is just like the waves rushing in and out against the seashore.
But experiencing love as it warms me with arms of peace and compassion?
Am I really supposed to believe that this is more than a few butterflies that won't soon fly away to tickle another person's heart?
My stomach churns with indecision. I want no more to think of feelings that may lead to future decisions.
Could I lose out on this 'love' altogether? How can I know when I really do not know what love really is in the first place?
Besides, there is comfort in what I know. While confusion and chaos still hold the only definition of love I have tasted.
Where is this love that should be tangible enough to recognize in its many forms of grandeur of which so many proclaim exists?
I believe in faith and hope more than I can truly every grasp love in its qualities supposedly entwining one man to one woman.
Love for country. Love for children. Love for others. But love looking at me? Love looking through me and understanding my needs while still wanting to give me such love day after day? What a perplexity that has no true relevance in my life.
I would just as easily become mist as I could fathom love reaching into my heart and wanting to stay there more than a moment of time.
I find comfort in the simplicity that surrounds my life without the supposed love that finds no connection through comprehension.
In fact, I am not quite sure I want to love as I once thought.
Is it my age? Is it from my past mistakes?
I don't know and I really am not sure how much time I want to devote to love - this unknown something that has shown me only despair, sorrow and lies.
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder and the everpresent experience of joy and happiness is what love may indeed be comprised of, then the ocean breeze sweetly calls to me with love that has always been unconditional.
For now, I share my love with the surf, the sunset, the seagulls and the sand found wet and soft between my toes.
I am safe. I am complete. I am at peace.