What is love?
A question, I am sure, that has been asked throughout countless generations. From the beginning of time, perhaps.
Is it a cloak? Is it a feeling? Is it a state of being?
Does it mask the world, or reveal it?
Is it solace, comfort? Or is it bitter, bitter pain?
What is this love? This sought-after drug, this thorn in the side of many a philanderer, this ultimate goal of a youthful dreamer.
Is it fleeting? For some, sure.
Does it end? For most, yes.
Sometimes it is a long, slow, bright burning flame. And other times the flame is lit in a sudden spark, and the flares rise and roar, spitting and heaving with life and danger and terrible, terrible menace, and then with a flash the flames are out, leaving the bitter ashes of something tremendous behind.
Ocean Bream 
I love this. Your imagery is always so powerful. I think love is more a smouldering smokey mess. This is why you write the poetic stuff and I don’t. 😄
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Thank you! Haha, love it, sometimes it can be a smouldering smoky mess – but the fact that is is smouldering means it must have been on fire once before!?
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The painting fits the written. Did you paint it?
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Ah, would that I could paint like this! No, I didn’t paint it 🙂 I linked the artist in the caption of the painting, though, if you would like to check out his work.
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It is all these things and more. Beautiful OB.
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Thank you Colleen 🙂
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A timeless question, Lenora. Beautiful writing!
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