People who say ‘My love doesn’t cost a thing’, are ignorant of the currency used.
People who say ‘Love is free’, are cheapskates who offer a poor product, unrefined, poor in construction, bad quality.
People who say ‘All you need is love’, are peasants of the artistry of life.
People who ‘Bathe in love’, are stench ridden with hypocrisy and haven’t been blessed with the other fragrances of living.
People who sorrow and wallow in the ‘Throes of love’, are void of ever living through it. They have contained love to a being, to a finite mortal speck of flesh in the grand scheme of all things worldly, cosmic, spiritual.
Love is far removed from the prattling of poets.
It lives in the actions of the selfless.
It is a mothers rush to clean a dirty diaper.
It is in her sacrifice to milk her bosom dry, because the babies well being is more important than hers.
It is in a child’s reluctance to let their parent die without dignity.
It is their reciprocity in cleaning them when they are too elderly to notice their dysfunctional bowels.
It is in the fathers blood being spilled on the conveyor belt of labour, so his children can have buttons on their shirts, soles on their feet.
It is in his bowel cancer because he ate comfort food for forty years to curtail the stress hormones he didn’t know are swimming in his bloodstream.
It is in the students labour into the early hours when life forms are dead, just to understand one trigonometry question so he can present it the next day with pride.
It is in the teachers secret tears in the lunch room when the hurtful insults of her heedless students are not retaliated to because she feels their pain yet still wants to give them one idea to carry with them in their life.
It is in the employers oversight to your lacklustre performance for the last twenty years because they know you have five mouths to feed.
Most of all it is in the soil you’ll be buried in that doesn’t spit you back out for your vile arrogance and ignorance all your life.
Instead it embraces you, swallows you whole and makes you a part of it, allows you to fertilise the earth for a flower to grow, so that flower can be picked by an ignorant lover to present to his first heart throb, so we can one day tell him, that’s not fucking love.