Love as a Noun

I love funny.

Not ha-ha funny.

Just strange.

Like me.

I forgive, it is my religion.

I learn, it is my religion.

I remember, it is my religion.

I love, it is what I am.

It’s just what the fuck I do.

Me and Forrest Gump, not the smartest bunnies in the drawer but we know what love is.

I do.

I have loved. Been loved.

I don’t like using it as a verb. And my tenses are always tricksy.
Active? Sometimes.
Passive? Ya, that too.
Past tense, nope. If it was ever there it still exists.
So my love is a noun?

Am love.

She fucked her brother, what does she know of love? About as much as Jon Snow. Absolutely nothing (say it again)

She has a point though. Love is supposed to be sacred and mine is all here and I look a scattered mess.

I also asked who the fuck was going to love me with my guts spilled all over the internet.

That’s the million dollar question. If we could answer that and the other, we would have 2 million dollars, unless the answer is the same and then it would feel exactly like winning the lottery.

Yup. And I burn everything to the ground.
I’m sifting through the ash.

Warmth can only come from a burning, and love always comes due in blood. Stephen King

Ever since I woke up and took control over my life, started being honest about who and what I am I have never been wrong about genuinely loving someone. They all needed/deserved it and had some role to play in my life, all of them continue to be in it. Passively.

“The dog has to be put to sleep my boy. Do you understand why? Mark said, You’re not putting him to sleep you are putting him to death, aren’t you? The vet said yes. Mark told him to go ahead, but he had kissed Chopper first. He felt sorry but he hadn’t cried and tears had never been close to the surface. His mother had cried but three days later Chopper was in the dim past to her, and he would never be in the dim past for Mark. That was the value in not crying. Crying was like pissing everything out on the ground.” Stephen King

But I cry, oceans. I am a girl, this is a thing I do.
I need an arc.

So how do I keep from pissing everything on the ground?
(Those who sow in tears shall reap in joy ~ Blake)

How do I hold memories sacred?

Archives (I am) archangel, archbishop. All these things wrapped up in one girl.
An arch is a curved structure that spans a space and may or may not support weight above it.
Arch may be synonymous with vault.

Welcome to the vault.

If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die. (Unknown)

My immortals.

I see something in them worth preserving. Doesn’t mean I want to keep them or fuck them. I just like knowing they exist. I need to show them, and everyone reading, their worth. Because I want someone to show me mine. Or find me worthy of keeping, celebrating, loving.

“That is my super power, the girl who says nice things and means them” (conversations with Drogo the other day) I told him I could see his soul and it is golden and warm. It is. Being near him makes my soul happy. Do I love him? Yes and it is pleasant and calm. Am I in love with him? Nope. Passive.

I do believe in love at first sight. I have felt it, been in it.

I was 13 years old and I still love the fucker. Passive.

I have loved since, been in it, am in it. Active.

I used to think that I was not in possession of my whole heart and therefore could not give it to anyone without it being tainted, tattered, torn. That used to be true. I tried to love my ex-husband but I didn’t know how.

I didn’t understand what it meant.

Now I know that I am a mother, daughter, sister, friend, lover. The love I have for my sisters is different than the love I have for my child, the love I have for my old lovers is as different as they are. Different than how I feel about this one. There are as many different kinds of love as there are people there ever was or will be, as there are snowflakes in an avalanche as there are angels dancing on the head of a pin or drops of water in the ocean. As with everything I just listed, love is not something to be measured or metered out in controlled doses.

I may be scattered, battered, tattered but I am not torn.

Love is not finite or fixed, we can’t ever run out. The more love I emit, the better I feel.

My heart is a stubborn thing, once she gets fixed on someone, everyone else falls away.
Perhaps another reason I need to be the keeper, archive everyone else so they still feel loved when my body stops wanting to be touched by anyone but him.

 

https://www.facebook.com/Jmstormquotes/photos/a.1586930328210390.1073741827.1586920178211405/1755927234644031/?type=3&theater

“Think I’ll go for a walk now, feel a little unsteady, don’t want nobody to follow me, except maybe you. I could make you happy if you weren’t already, I can do a lot of things, and I do.” Ani Difranco