W A R D U N I
V E R S I T Y|
& Voices IV
AN ANTHOLOGY OF VERSE AND
True Meaning of Love
I thought I knew love. I thought I knew her. I thought I knew love because I knew her and she was love. But that night…that night I didn’t seem to know anything. That night I thought she would come. I thought we would discuss our relationship and what went wrong, but I was wrong. I thought wrong, I did wrong, I was wrong.
I remember the first time we were together on the dock. We playfully chased each other from boat to boat as the light from the stars sparkled in her eyes. I was young then. I thought I was the man. Shit, I was the man, and everyone knew it…that is everyone but her. She claimed she saw right through my façade, and now that I think about it, it was the fear that she really could that scared me away. No one made me feel the way she did. No one made me feel the way love did.
Her touch was so soft…her caress like silk tickling my spine. The mere thought of her put butterflies in my stomach, her grace a shower of joy anointing my body with love. And to think I pushed her away… I pushed love away, because I was scared of the truth. I was scared of feeling, scared of my vulnerability. I was scared of love. I was scared of her.
It was my fear that made me blind, and unable to see the truth. It was my fear that made me lust, not for other women, but for freedom…freedom from love, freedom from her. It was my fear that made me fuck, fear that made me desire pleasure for my head and yet not my mind. It was fear that fed my groin and starved my heart in hope that one day it would die and set me free. I wanted freedom…freedom from love, freedom from her. But now I know without her…without love, there is no me.
I thought I knew love. I thought I knew her. I thought I knew love because I knew her and she was love. But that night…that night I didn’t seem to know anything. That night I thought she would come. I thought she would forgive me for my thoughts, my lust, my fear. I thought I could tell her I wanted to love, because I wanted her and she was love. But it was too late. I had lost her, I had lost love, and I had lost myself, all because I was afraid…afraid of her, afraid of love. I remember the torn picture; her and me separated not by her hands, but by my fear. A separation never to be reconciled, a love never to live. As I tore the picture and threw its remains into the bay I prayed for her. As I watched us scatter across the water I prayed for love. Maybe one day I’ll be given another chance. Maybe one day we will meet again on the dock where love began. Maybe one day I will know her, know love, and more importantly know myself.
I thought I knew love. I thought I knew her. But yet I never, ever knew myself. Till it was too late.