“It’s because of her that I was able to live,” I say. Emily is sitting in the front row her eyes red with tears. She’s wearing a black dress, and when I look at her I almost see Mom. Mom had always loved Emily. Maybe as much as I do. “She always showed me right versus wrong. Well before dad died. . . When Dad died,” I take in a quick breath looking down at the podium. I close my eyes, holding back my tears. “When Dad died,” I lift my head back up, my eyes meeting Emily’s. She nods once, wiping a tear, “She fell. She fell so far, too far. . .and then I was the one caring for her. I did my best to show her a love that was passionate. A love that showed just how much she meant to me. . . She meant the whole world. The whole galaxy, the whole universe.” I feel the small tingle of tears crawling out of my eyes. I try to blink them away, taking a deep breath. I let out a small sad laugh, “And now she’s gone. Gone, and I’m still here. With no one to care for, with no one to care for me. . . Mom always had, even after Dads death when she broke. She still cared, she still tried. She showed affection and tenderness better than anyone I’ve ever met. But you can’t keep trying forever. Sometimes the only path that you can walk down is giving up,” I keep my eyes on Emily, she looks down, choking out a small sob. “There was this one time. Years and years ago. . . Mom told me something, she said. To live a perfect life, you don’t need to have flown to the moon or walked around the whole world. You just have to live a life with no regrets. I’ve held on to that, I always will. I love you Mom, I will always love you.”

Love can be blinding, Misguiding, Leading you away from the Tenderness of raw affection, into the arms of heated zealous. Yet it can still be passionate, And enrapturing. Cradling your heart, never apart from your Love

What ever happened to our love? To feel so close to someone Who now resembles a passing stranger

Your friends send messages under the guise of affection I see them only as declarations Of an ever fading hope That we will never return to what once was

The passion we shared The tender moments shaped together Are hidden by the anger The upset Of all that has happened

That same tenderness is a fleeting moment Never to be regained The past kept from us Nostalgia letting only glimpses through The true form of the us lost to time

Until I met you I felt hopeless Love Affection Passion Tenderness We’re just words

But they are not just words They are feelings

Feelings that can be returned

Feelings that have not perished But survived in the ashes of before

And through your nature Can be built once more On our new foundations

From a heart left in the ashes the gentle glow of kindness and a certain tenderness gives rise to the rekindling of the embers Fed by the quiet affection of another As it gives rise to a fiery inferno of passion and love.

Returning in colour it intensifies!

Born anew in the world Of a heart on the mend

I don’t know when I knew that love wasn’t enough When the warmth of your closeness that Let me hear your heartbeat mimic the drums That roar in my ears when I think About you Stopped being the motivation I needed To want you

I don’t know when my affection for you Turned into a chore, a duty I am guilted into When you tell me you miss me I’m sorry The words automatic, consoling When I don’t want to, can’t stand to Be around you

I do love you More than the moon and the sun and The stars themselves I love you With a passion that I never knew I had inside Of me But that’s not enough now, and it hasn’t been Not for a while, not since I met you Oh if only it were enough

You are too much for me, Too much love and tenderness and wanting I need to be, was built to be On my own I cannot watch you break your heart as you try To make me need you

I’m sorry

Love is not always right.

Not in the sense that certain kinds of love; heterosexual, homosexual, etc. are wrong—No, nothing like that.

Love is not always right in the sense that sometimes it’s not real love at all. Sometimes it is toxic and dark, and your feelings will cling to it no matter what reason presents because you want that love.

It will take you by surprise when the affection mixes with irritation; how it can become a chore.

Or how the passion can become forced, two actors trying to play the same part with only a blank script to share between them. The ghosts of the words linger there but you can’t read them anymore. Still, you will pretend you can. You will act.

And when tenderness becomes impatient—when every gentle fingertip across your skin has a buzz of annoyance charged behind it that’s when you’ll know it’s wrong. Perhaps you’ll know way sooner and choose not to act on it. Rather, you will choose to act.

You’ll continue to play this part in a play with no plot. Because you want so badly to be the characters you were when you started out.

And God, please don’t blame yourself. Don’t force yourself through that. If someone you love only loved you in the beginning, then they never really loved you at all.

And that’s not your fault.

It’s not your story to save.

Let it end. Move on, there are people who love correctly. You won’t have to fight like this forever, trust me.

Love is not always right, and it’s not always your fault.