I Love You

 I’d once wondered

What does love feels like 

Is it soft like the pillow of a newborn child

Or harsh like the spray of angry waves 

Is it loud like the blaring sirens

Or tender like whisper of rustling leaves

Who can tell me what it feels like? 

One said, ‘It’s when your hands touch,

And refuses to let go,’

One said, ‘it’s when you buy flowers,

And see the smile on her face.’

Another said, ‘well, it feels like everything,

And also nothing.’

I searched the skies for answers

The seas for their wisdom

‘It’s beyond words,’ they said,

‘your heart will know it when it loves.’

It is still beyond words, my heart says

And sometimes you drown in the confusion 

Is it love? Is it not? 

Does he love me? Do I love him? 

Still? 

I’ve known the touch of his lips 

The sound of his words

The breadth of his kindness 

The height of his passions 

It’s the smallest moments - 

The soft rustle of laundry being folded

The harsh pants of his breaths 

The loud arguments that we have

The soft clinking of him doing dishes

It’s not what you feel, Love. 

Love is not a noun nor adjective

Love is a verb

We feel love because we chose love 

To love, and to be loved

It is what you choose. 

How does love feel? 

Well, it feels like a choice. 

Death

 Sometimes I feel like we don’t talk about death enough. I’ve been in the medical field for long enough to know that that isn’t really something you can ever be ready for, and that it’d be a good idea to leave something behind before you get suddenly robbed away from the ones you love.

I admit, I thought about death a lot more times than I should. I was never a fighter, so naturally, when things got hard in the past, one of the easier way out was death. And so, I’ve actually given a lot of thought to what I want to happen in the event that- well, if I am made to suddenly depart the mortal world. 

But don’t worry, I’m much better now. Much more insight into who I am and how I want to live this life, so hopefully these thoughts about death will change directions. 

But I digress. 

If I were to conduct and plan my own funeral, I’d rather it be happy and light, rather than the traditional dark somber tones. Don’t mourn my passing; celebrate my life. Isn’t it better to remember one’s last moments in a lighter picture, rather than veiled in the heavy shroud of black? Grief is a given in any event of death, why amplify it? Temper it with light tunes and happy images, colour it with bright reds and yellows and oranges. 

But it’s not nice to think about death too much; I do believe that every thought is magnetic, and whatever it is you think of will attract the very thing of your thoughts. So let’s not linger; I’ve made my point. 

We celebrate New Years and birthdays, the birth of a new year; but at the same time we celebrate the passage of the old year, of times lost. What’s the difference eh?