Was it really love?

Except for those who have had a sad or twisted life, most of us must have told others, be it their parents, their spouses or their dates, “I love you”. We so want to tell that to the other person that we may hasten to add the word “forever” to it, believing that we do mean it one hundred percent.

But do we really understand love? Do we really have the true love to back up the statement? The following is a poem that I gave to a girl I thought I would die for many, many years ago:

Love, I love you
not only for what you are,
but for what I am when I am with you.
I love you, not only for what
you have made of yourself,
but for what you are making of me.
I love you for the part of me
that you bring out, I love you
for reaching out and touching my heart,
and passing over all the foolish, weak things
that you can't help simply seeing there,
and for drawing out into the light
all the beautiful belongings
that no one else had looked
quite far enough to find.
Love is entrusting our faults to one another.
Love is belonging in each other's thoughts
with care as well as feeling.
Love is beautiful. You are enhanced by my love.
I am enhanced by you,
Love. I love because of you,
and you are the reason for all of my tomorrows.
Your love makes my life complete.

Larry S. Chengges

Reading it again now, the thought of identifying myself with the “I” and the girl with the “you” in the poem gives me the creeps. Looking back, it was little more than passion and lust, and I thank my lucky star that it didn’t materialize and I bet she does, too.

Rather than being something that lasts “forever” (fortunately, it is a word I never use), love is a very fickle thing indeed.

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