Is it love

when it's a constant push and pull

that seems to only consist of the push?

Is it love

when it narrows your vision

blurring anything outside its scope?

Is it love

when misery washes away my makeup

only to reveal the scars underneath?

Is it love

when it's a snake

constricting my airways

making each breath sear with regret?

Is it love

when even a caress

causes terror to seal my eyelids shut?

Is it love 

when I'm no longer myself,

but Sisyphus suffering his eternal punishment?

Is that love?

 

Is that the love I've dreamed about?

The kind that creates butterflies

that don't sink to the bottom of my stomach?

The kind that opens doors

rather than leaving their imprint on my face?

The kind that's weilded from iron

and not from plastic?

The kind that spews forgiveness

instead of grimmaces of disgust?

The kind sprouted from a garden

untainted by the devil's fruit?

The kind that's brandished

instead of kicked further and further until forgotten?

Now that-

that is love.

 

Persistent, transformative, triumphant.