I signed up for this ride because I know I can handle it. Even if I spew my guts all over the landscape, ugly and stinky. This shit I've swallowed is heavy and thick, clogging my pores and slowing my progress. It's not mine. Sexual favors in exchange for twisted love generations deep, swirling into black holes of shame that hide in the bottom of a bottle, day after day, life after life.
A legacy of shadows, passed down through gestures and words, violence and desertion, devoured by starving mouths that long for the gentle kiss of love. Not praise for being a good student love, or validation through compliments of beauty love, or attention for being funny love, or offering sex through obligation love. No, not limited, conditional love.
Real love. The kind that shines through the not good enough and the didn't do it right and the don't deserve it. The kind that sees the broken and the angry and the scared and loves anyways. The kind that smells the rot and tastes the sharp and hears the ouch and loves anyways. The love that loves anyways. The love that just loves.