Love

I wanted to start this poem with what love means to me.

and I wrote some lines about how I don't know anymore.

I am going through a divorce, I may or may not be in love with a man who has a girlfriend.

I am going through hell, and I started writing about how those experiences leave me with the lack of knowledge on what love means.

And then I realized I was wrong.

Love is not contingent on a man, or a woman. 

It is not based on another person, but rather it is based on yourself.

I can be in love with someone who doesn't love me, that's love.

I can be in love with someone who adores me, that's love.

Most importantly, I can love myself, and that is also, love.

Love is not held down by boundaries and rules on what and where and whom you may love. It does not care if it is real or fake or supposed to be, it just is. It just is. And that's possibly the most beautiful part about love there is, is that without reasoning it comes and it goes. In and out of your life like wind blowing through the trees. There is no method, logic, or reasoning more than the fact that it just is a thing.