There is a saying,
handed down from generation to generation,
about love and all that it means.
The thing we strive for,
yet never quite attain.
We end up feeling inadequate,
and alone,
I know I am.
And I wonder,
is this all that my life has to offer?
I’m not content, nor happy,
not any of the things that
love professes to make you.
I wonder then, what makes one happy?
Is it the call of a whipporwhil in the distance,
or the calmness of a perfect night,
starlight shining down from the heavens above?
I do not know.
For years I have struggled with this,
tried in vain to understand love.
What it is, what it means.
And still the answer eludes me.
