“What are you, Love?” I asked.
“Are you the force and heat of a volcano?
A rock foundation we can stand on?
The need that drives us to heroism?
The blood dripping nails of sacrifice?
The shackles that bind us to one another?
The courage to move mountains?
Are you all things, giant and grand?”
“Yes,” Love replied,
“I am many things like that,
Things that can’t be controlled,
Things that can’t be reigned in.
But, I am not always so giant and grand…
I am the teardrop that shatters your preconceived notions.
I am the petal that falls through the breeze.
I am a butterfly that flits along for only a moment…
They can’t be controlled either,
For if you close your fist on them,
They will be crushed.”