No, I’ve never been in love.
I’ve never experienced that blinding light
That poets always describe
When witnessing the smile of their beloved,
As if the sky cracked open every time their lips parted,
And unleashed the holy heavens upon this blessed love-struck individual.
I’ve never felt the rapidly increasing beat of my heart,
Crashing against the entrapment of my ribs,
Begging to be unleashed
For the sole reason of proving to my love
That yes, it beats only for him.
I’ve also never felt that burning under the skin,
That sickly sensation described as jealousy,
When witnessing my beloved
Slowly fall for the Aphrodite seated across from him,
Her words weaving a web of seduction too enticing to resist.
I’ve never been burning with anger over a love lost to another,
I’ve never cried for days over a love not reciprocated,
I’ve never had to fear the day my love leaves and never returns,
And I’ve never spent a day of my life,
Fully content to be with the person I love.
But, maybe love isn’t worth all of the trouble anyway.