all of this anger,
this rage,
this irrational irritation that continues to boil over,
was once love.

it was gentle,
and kind.
it did not bite or maul.
it did not bare its teeth with the intention of pain.
instead, with the intention of tenderness.

all of this rage,
was once warmth.

it was intimate,
and tender.
it did not bubble beneath the surface with an endless blaze.
instead, it flickered in soft wisps.

all of this irritation,
was once affection.

it was constant,
and reliable.
it did not swing with the might and fury of a rouge soldier.
instead, it stood fortified within its bounds.

all of this rage, was once love.
a love i had for you.

To be a star,
you must burn.

To be a flower,
you must blossom.

To be art,
you must be created.

To be music,
you must be played.

To be a river,
you must flow.

But to be a lover,
you may not be loved.