Love is

They tell me love is pain

Love is possessive and beautiful, Love is you.

And that is dumb.

Because I don't know you, I know your name and the way you talk. I can see you three blocks away and hear the way you sing. Yet I can't describe the way you write during one of your sleepless nights, I don't know how you put on repeat a song you hate to your chore. How is it that you walk through the broken glass as if it wasn't breaking your skin.

 I don't know why you say that you hate the rain when you like to stick your hand out and smile at the drops that drench your hand. (I was too mesmerized to ask).

They show me that love is kind and of equals, that jealousy comes hand in hand

And what's yours is mine.

And that may be why I like soccer now and you listen to dead bands that no one has heard before. It could be the reason as to why I punched that girl and you made that boy cry. Yet it doesn't explain that I still don't know what made you laugh at four in the afternoon because you were walking from Paraguay to Mexico.

I can't say this is a friend and that an ex-lover and I am yours. Because we don't spend time explaining what it feels to have your heart ripped out and chew in front of you. As we are two cowards that hide between sheets.

Love can be great and the winner of death yet Love doesn't tell me what it feels when you hide a laugh behind your hands. Because is you who tells me how you want to show respect even if you remember that thing three years and one week ago.

It doesn't tell me why you hold grudges as they were a treasure of gold and you their keeper.

Love evades me when I demand to know why is it that you help me laugh by being next to me.

T.A.