White Hot Hearts

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Poem about connected emotions between love, hearts and galaxies, stars and universes

Should I know what love is? Because I was with someone before, whom I adored and loved being with and loved spending time with, because I was feeling things never felt before, unlike anything else I've experienced, does that make it love? How selfish of me. I must have been draped in ignorance. I must have been blinded by it's false promises. Love is elusive, and it eluded me. It left me. Well, something left me, or someone. How was I supposed to know which? It may as well have been Bigfoot. We can't see it, or love, so what is the difference? I wonder if I'm meant to love. I wonder if I deserve it. I can think of a billion reasons, just like the stars in the night galaxy, as to why love doesn't stop at my doorstep and knock on my door. It's not in my destiny. It's not in my life's design.

Love and all the stars in the universe are connected. It's romantic. It's almost like the universe is writing its own love story, and we are just spinning and rotating right through the middle of its cosmic pages. No one can write quite like the universe. It's story has it all. It has the adventure. It has the intrigue. It has science fiction. It has danger, mystery, wonder, drama and even horror. We are a story within a story, and all the other planets and stars are twinkling and intertwining around each shining and darkening page. They have their own hearts, just like ours, beating rhythmically throughout the plot of this galaxies neverending saga. Hearts connected. Warm and nestled wrapped around burning white hot. The universe and its story reminds me of another story. It was called Wizard and Glass, possibly the first book I ever fell in love with and something I could relate to in a deep and personal way. 

Maybe love for me is something that is unlike anything anyone else has experienced. I know that it's different for everyone. People have their own definition of how and why they found love, or how love found them. Maybe love for me reveals itself in the most unorthadox of ways. It may sound very weird, but love is and isn't, literally and metaphorically, in the stars for me. I don't believe love with a person is written in my story in this life. Love has found me in other ways. Through books, through writing, through riding my bicycle. These things have given me joy beyond anything else. The level of happiness exhibited and expressed through my hobbies is unparallel, unmatched, and boldly, not shared with any other person. I've been in two meaningful relationships, but I can confidently say that I was not in love with them. It was not a part of my story.

My little slice of heaven is waiting for me. It understands that it may be waiting for a long time. I understand that love is not here for me, as long as I am still living this life here. When I receive that invitation, I will know, and then I will save the date. I'm waiting to be delivered into the universe. There, I will find my love. It's in the heavens and nowhere else. Love for me is real. It's like believing in Bigfoot. Some people can't see it, but it's there, waiting to be uncovered in another life. My love is real. Someday I will go there, once I have been invited. There's no plus one.

It patiently awaits my arrival among the White Hot Hearts

 

 


Submitted: September 21, 2022

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