My Kind Of Love

They make me see love as a beautiful thing. It's been how long now. They are still going strong. 

They lift each other up. They keep each other warm, even in rainy days. 

Their love, an exhilarating feeling. Love reciprocated. 

A breath of fresh air – garden breeze – from the leaves of the sunflowers, like the ones decorated on the edges of Ivy's hair. 

It is a sweet, genuine smile – not the smirk we got used to – that peeks out of the corners of Jonathan's mouth as he gazes – awestruck – at the beauty of his bride. 

Even as they promise one another, once again, yet till forever. 

Until death do they part. For they are forever. 

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This kind of love is but foreign to me, and those of my kind. 

Ours is binding, like an evil spell cast on the mind. 

The one we've known is imprisoning.

Caging us like animals caught while poaching. 

Never have I experienced this kind of love. 

But maybe I have, just once, though it was fleeting. 

Daring and somewhat consuming. 

It filled my soul with endless need, yet still foreign. 

For I'd only known how to love in pieces and not in whole. 

That once, slipped out of my grasp, almost as quickly as it came. 

Except that once, all I've known is pain. The love that is pain. 

The one that takes and takes, till you have nothing left to give. 

Maybe we were only made to love in that way. 

Their love is pure and kind. It gives its all. 

It's sad to say, but I want their kind of love. 

But will I ever experience it? 

Was I made to be loved in that way? 

Could it be that I was made only for pain? 

These questions. Rhetorical but burning. Hindering.

But my mind knows the truth. It speaks even in silence. 

And my heart listen.

Surely love is pain. 

At least, my kind of love.