The trouble with love is
we give it away too freely,
to people who do not deserve it
because there is an expectation
for us to love the ones we came from,
even though they have done us wrong
in more ways than one.

We give it to hearts where it is unrequited,
who do not treat it like the gift that it is,
for to love someone completely
is to give all of yourself to them
your light and darkness
with an understanding that it is delicate,
like the petal of a freshly bloomed flower.

The trouble with love is that it is not rational – 
we fall into it too deeply
and fall out of it too quickly
or sometimes never fall into it at all,
merely teetering on the edge of ‘like’
for adoration does not come easily to us.

It crushes and destroys the essence of our being
as we crumple beneath its weight
until we slowly regain our strength
with lessons learned
and hard hearts earned.

We worry that we do it wrong,
for what is love to us
may not be love to someone else
our forever after all,
our in sickness and in health,
is not a tether shared
nor is a heart spared
the pain of this realisation.

The trouble with love
is the pressure
society puts on us to find it
romantically
as if we as human beings are not complete
without another soul
to accompany us on this journey.

We buy into this pressure
entering into relationships
situationships
cohabitation
with people who are not meant for us
at times when we are not ready
as a way to be ready
to answer all of the questions they will ask
about our futures
of rocks on our fingers
and the cries of an infant
as if both of these will give us purpose,
meaning.

We know they don’t meant it
at least,
not in a way that offends us.
They are simply a product of their generation
where gender roles were at the forefront of a partnership
and though most are open minded
to the way that things have changed
there is still a sense of
them being stuck with the same
ideas and ideals
that they always have been.

Love has progressed. To love is progress.

And yet we cling to the idea that we are failing,
sinking,
if we have not found the one person
whom we call the love of our life,
our everything.
We are conditioned to believe that this is the love that matters
when all that really matters
is that we are loved
by the people who have raised us
nurtured us,
empowered us,
held us while we have cried
witnessed our becoming
and our unbecoming,
those who have been there by our side
for our entire lives
whose love does not come with conditions
and we do not have to prove ourselves
or be anything we’re not,
because it is not judgmental
and cannot be forgotten.
Can it?

We become so focused on finding love
that sometimes we forget
love has already found us
in more ways than one,
and though it cannot kiss us passionately
or propose marriage
perhaps it is the only love we can truly depend on,
the kind of love that
no matter how much we take it for granted
will never leave.
But still, the problem with love is that we are too blind to see,
that sometimes the love we have with us already
is all the love we might ever need.