What I like about love

What is love someone might ask. Is it Julia or Christine or Samantha? Is it Courtney Kurt or John Paul or Ringo or George? No? Is it a trip to the grocery store? A trip to the bank or to the coffee shop bar or meeting? No. Indeed. none of that is love. Love isn’t a person place or thing. There’s nothing one can identify objectively and say this is love. That is indeed why a Marxist vision can’t identify love. And yet I know love when I see it. But living it? It requires knowing it’s real while letting others take their trips to the grocery store and to the bank. Because one thing love needs is an ability to choose. To be able to say yes or no to a person place or a thing. Love has dignity, but it isn’t dignity. Love has life but it isn’t life. Love is nothing. Love is everything. Love is the literal butterflies that follow me around as I wrote a beautiful poem that friends at a coffee shop shared with me and let me have a quiet life free. Perhaps that’s what the cliché means to have butterflies in my stomach when I’m in love. It took the right wet nurses to bring that love to it’s proper dancing light that love me and likes me to be free. And yet life goes on in spite of butterflies because shopping and family dinners and board games and paying bills and just laying about still is real. Even more real than the subtle love that cherishes it, even though without love none of that would be real. Love doesn’t always insist on being seen. Love only cherishes life so that every bird can sing and every butter can fly. Right now my two favorite Beatles songs is “Because” on Abbey Road and “For the Benefit of Mister Kite” on Seargant Pepper. My favorite Gwen Stefani song is “Getting Warmer” on her Truth album that reminds me of the Beatles song “You Never Give Me Your Money” which is actually better than the Beatles song because the love of one woman is more meaningful than the love of four men. But I can’t let her light separate me from the world and so my self respect is better than all the songs put together like love couldn’t exist without my self respect, at least not in the same way that can shine for me. It doesn't matter how beautiful a woman's love is for me, I'll eventually need some time alone or go shopping by myself and the way I carry myself is something a woman can nurture but she can never be that for me. Ask any man who tried to be a woman he's not. I won't ask any of those men because I know the answer. Sometimes it's too late to do better when you're already two steps behind. I never could have known what self respect was if love didn't nurture me like a twin.