Friend-love

When I call you "love," it bears no semblance to romance because this love is eternal and grounded in the stuff of stars and stones. We are not star-crossed, and I hope this narrative defies a convention of sex and ill-conceived notions of the meaning of the term "relationship." Friend: the loyalty and truth therein deserves mentioning and every thought I turn that direction concludes in a (rumi)nation on the gods contained in an o'erflowing heart. Love, let me bless you with this light. I am he that forever dances, catch yourself in this whirlwind of my self and I will carry you in my heart, for that is the eye of the storm of my being. This maelstrom of potential healing is predicated on none such exterioralities as dependency, but the transcendence of Other. In you, I find myself letting go. (E)go. And in that release, joy. Such is the nature of trust, Love. Love. And I grow. I learn. I love.