Love doesn't fall apart as it ages
It isn't like a building but none the less needs maintenance
We often strangle it with expectation or smother its voice.
It isn't alive and yet we must feed it.
It has no conscience and yet we scold it with angry words.
It has no substance at all and yet can be poisoned.
There is no structure to it, no plan.
Though we treat it as a building, a temple or shrine.
It collapses without a sound but the screams are deafening.
When love is done it doesn't walk away like a wounded animal to die alone.
It is euthanized by some, executed by others but always killed by one.
So what of love, Is it real
Is it yours or mine or ours?
Is it stolen, loaned or cheated?
However you obtain it remember to nurture it or like any living thing...
It will die.