love is

i stare languidly out the car window as the sun sinks in the distance and paints the sky a rainbow of colors, feeling the wind whip through my hair and skip across my nose

when something catches my eye; sitting on a bench like an island in the middle of chaos and turbulence, an elderly man holds the hand of his wife

they look deeply at one another, with a depth of feeling i can witness but not completely comprehend

all the world might stop and they would not notice; their smiles crease their faces into even more wrinkled maps of the universe

because contained in their eyes is an emotion with a gravity that i can only dream of experiencing

ahead, the stoplight switches from green to red, and as the car slows to a stop, i marvel at the two of them perched on the bench as if they were a sculpted statue

she covers her mouth with her free hand, and i can see that she is laughing

although i cannot hear her above the sounds of vehicles whizzing by, birds chirping from the trees, and the vibrancy of an early fall evening

i know she is enamored with him and would laugh even at his most stodgy and dry jokes just to humor him

and he would do anything to see her light up with the summertime effervescence of a firefly in the dark

the light changes back to green and the car begins to roll down the street, gradually building up speed and sending the wind whistling through my hair once more

the couple disappears in the distance, but the image of them sticks in my mind as if it were painted there

i can see the way the dying sunlight colors their faces with life

illuminating the happiness that already makes their eyes shine like stars in the sky

it makes me wonder, what will happen to their love when, like the sun sets and the moon rises, their time on this earth ends?

i would like to think that it is sent back out into the world

a sort of spirit carried on the wind on a crisp autumn morning, the scent of lavender in the spring, the chatter of summering crowds at the beach, and the glittering sheen of snow that falls in the winter

a magic contained in caring words and soft smiles, in real, true laughter and genuine compassion, in honest forgiveness and in the kindness we so often forget to treat others with

the city rolls by on the outskirts of my vision, but my thoughts are still occupied by this little old man and woman

i know that they are probably still sitting on that bench, perhaps reminiscing about when they first met or the first time they ever told each other that what they felt was love

love, i think, and sigh softly to myself

if only we all loved all things as deeply and as irrevocably

too often we rush through life like the cars on the street flying past one another

always in a hurry; never stopping to admire the watercolored myriad of shades that dapple the sky or count the ocher and lemon leaves as they fall to the ground

but love is patient; it cannot be hurried, yet it can be taught

and it can bloom like a flower cradled by the warm air and gentle breeze of a late spring morning

live each day as if it was your last

and love each day as if you never were to die

for someone out there is surely waiting for you and your love

to perhaps sit on a bench with you in the twilight hours and laugh about nothing in particular

yet do it with love

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2 thoughts on “love is

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