The word love is always

Just thrown from here to there.

I love this or that,

Him or her

You.

What worth does it have left?

We're perceived as strange

When we question its legitimacy,

But tell me,

How can we not

When it's throw around so casually?

I too am guilty

Of word abuse.

But I have seen the error of my ways,

I've done my time

And learned to treasure

Those four letters.

No longer do I throw it blindly

Like a child

Learning to throw a ball,

Nor do I keep it locked away

For only myself to hear.

But I will not say

I love this or that,

Him or her,

And I will not  

Say it before you.

Because that is probably

The cruelest lie

That can be told.

No one but the broken and wise

Knows the power of an empty sentence

Made up of

three words,

Eight letters.

Especially when you believe it

To be full of that four letter word.

Because you want so desperately

For it to come true

So I won't say it

Not anymore

No for this or that

Or him or her.

No,

Not even for you

Not unless I'm sure.