Defining love.
Through the eyes of a not-so-depressed-really and why-are-you-so-surprised lover of poetry and all things of abstract beauty.
***
They say to define is to limit.
All my day job really is, well (*drum roll*),
defining for a living. Searching for certainty, only to carve out uncertainty in ways that still leave the greatest questions misunderstood,
unanswered.
***
In these late Saturday night hours, perhaps the only ones left to attempt to define the things that matter,
here I am.
Reaching out for you, a feeble victim of uncertainty, this fable of love leaving me in tears and confusion.
***
To know that to you poetry is truly just for those unfortunate outliers,
Barely balancing on their tiptoes between happiness and loneliness, ecstasy and emptiness, always on the margin.
To know you don’t know that I am no more than a ‘poet-gone-wrong turned-lawyer-instead’ if only you dared to peel off the layers that camouflage my being.
To know you don’t know and still love you.
Love you, still.
And isn’t that what love is.
Rational Artist 