My own kind of love is like that of a Tree. A tree which grows tall, and with shades thinking of how to shelter people and bright eyed things. The Tree that measures its progress by the amount of smile and safety it has offered people and bright eyed things.
A Tree whose thick leafy branches combats with the wind that tries to straighten the branches. A tree that would fight and fight and fight with the wind, and even after being defeated would return to its sheltering state ready for another combat.
So, I don’t love you because I know you. I don’t love you because you loved me too quickly. I don’t love you because your eyes constantly competes with the tireless glow of the moon. I don’t love you because of the brand new ecstasies you give to me daily.
I love you because of the pain that accompanies your love. I love you because this pain drags freedom along with your love. I love you because your love makes me free to love and be loved. I love you because your love doesn’t tie me to just a future. I love you because of the flexibility your love offers to me.
This kind of love doesn’t chatter. It only moans, and the music of what it does to me is orgasm in itself. This love also allows me to be mine.
So, this is my simple love. The love that exposes love as it is.
The one that makes the leafy branches hug in excitement after giving shelter to a man who dusts himself up and leaves in satisfaction.
The one that brings me into a state of cultural amnesia on my disabilities.
Can it be compared? Well, maybe. You know the kind of love you suddenly feel for a deceased. The deceased you never spoke to. The one whose sight irritated and nauseated you. Yes, that one. The one whose tribute you wrote with so much emotions. That love, is the love. The simple love. The love that is in a league of its own.
Do you also know the kind of love you feel for that beautiful lady or handsome guy who is also smart and intelligent? No, not the one you wish to be with but the one you wish to be like. The one you admire from a far. Yes, that is the love. The one that only gets you smiling when you see his/her pictures, write ups or even watch her live on a video.
Those kind of love that makes you see yourself like the gift you are and the one you will grow to become.
The kind of love that does not prevent us from crying.
The kind of love that doesn’t not prevent us from fighting.
The kind of love that does not prevent us from learning.
The one that also does not prevent us from smiling.
It is the kind of love that teaches us change, and how gradual as a process it is. Not how instant and meteoric people have made us believe it should be.
It is the kind of love that doesn’t find it hard to let us be and find ourselves.
This is the kind of love, the big shady Tree offers.
The love that derives intense pleasure from smiling strangers. The love that knows itself to be a gift. The love that understands what burden is and what gift is.
The one that knows love can sometimes bring regrets, but not guilt.
The kind of love that gives you belief in yourself. The one that gives you the peace you pray for.
The kind of love that helps you purge agony. The one that won’t be washed away by the floods of pain.
And, lastly, the kind of love that will go down history’s romance timeline. The one that will be told to the next generation, and the next generation. And, also the next generation.
by Joseph Chimezie
Feature image from yourmarkontheworld.com