Title: Love

Love. How fickle is that word? God screwed up somewhere along the way, creating a word called love. How can you so easily sum up so many emotions in a single four-letter word? And what if I'm incapable of love? What then? Do I float through life aimlessly, striving for higher and higher goals and never feeling so sweet an emotion?

What about when I tell my friends I love them? Do I so easily give that word away? Or do the select few who love me back realize I mean it with them? Love. Ha. It can be used so frivolously, and yet seriously. I tell my friends about my newest loves, that are really just intense likes. Is it really so hard to say intense likes, that I just call it love?

Is love when you secretly look at a person and smile to yourself, thinking they are yours, at least in your heart and mind, and being content with just that? Is it when you hug them tight in a crowded hall just to show you can? Is it being mad when someone hurts them? What about wanting to rip their intestines through their bellybutton then shove them back down their throat? Is that love?

Is it when you stare at them, and think how beautiful they are, how kind and caring, how they glow with life you wish you had? Is it having your stomach twist itself into a knot every time they're near because you know deep down that you're not pretty or smart enough, though they may tell you otherwise? Or is that just a crush? How can you assert the difference? Can you truly?

Can you only feel it once? Or numerous times? Can you feel it for more than one person? Shall I ask it again? What is love? Is it picking out the right clothes just to make their eyes rove down your body, whether you feel fat and stupid or not? Is it freaking out every time a new pimple spots your face because you don't want them to see? Is it making eye contact and seeing every thing they don't want you to? Or how about knowing that the littlest touch can make them smile, so you touch as much as you can, for as long as you can? Is not wanting to let go, love? Or is it intense like?

Do you feel its harsh bite when you look in the mirror and find yourself ugly? Not worthy of them. Is it knowing deep down they can do better, and wishing they had it, though it may make your heart cry? Is it seeing them with someone else and wanting to shake the other person, scream in their face that it should be you? Is it putting yourself down just to have them touch you, comfort you? Do they know that's why you do it?

And if I cannot love? What if I'm the broken being? The one who's always on the outside looking in, through the thick dirty windows of the world. If they want me to say I'm in love with you, and I'm unable to say it...does that make me a bad friend? Does it scar their heart even more, like all the times I told other people I loved them? Is that three word phrase something special? Is it something to be used upon your family and closest friends?

And what if fear grips at my heart and causes me stress? Do I not say the words then? Can I not still tell them I love them? Can I not still look in the mirror and think myself unworthy of love, nay, of life? Does it mean I cannot look at them and wish to hold them close and never let go? And if they are my motivation? For living, for learning, for bettering myself. What then? Do I just stop breathing? What if I never start again? What if I choke on those words, meant for my friends and my family?

Is this just some sick, cruel joke, warped around my mind? Here to cause me distress and ponderment until I cannot see straight? Is it here to pound a stake deep and deeper still into the fragile glass that is my heart, though hidden behind the walls of steel, so that they may not see what their words do to me? So they cannot see how I bleed for them?

Perhaps this is just another way of making life hell. Something to make this boring play, as long as time itself, more intriguing to the Gods. Is it just written into our scripts? What if mine is missing that page? Am I destined to lead a life alone, full of problems and good intentions? Only to choke on my own loneliness and acidic tears? Then maybe I'm just an extra, there are thousands of us. People not important enough for leading roles, yet needed for relief. Or maybe I am the lead, and the hero. Perhaps I will die in a valiant death. A loser in life, a hero in death. Maybe they will write lyrics and lines of me. I doubt it.

Am I to die without the knowledge of love? Alone and afraid, fighting my own demons as well as those of my friends around me. What if I am a defect? What if I am missing a part of my brain, or worse...my soul? Perhaps I am of a different design? Something new trapped in something old? Or something old trapped in something new? Why can't I know this feel? This lightness of a cherub's touch, instead of this heaviness of reality's hand? Must I always be a cynic?

Am I never to tell the ones I trust the most how much they mean to me? Those who's touch does not make me jump and jerk away, does not make my eyes widen and my heart slam. Are they forever to be left in the dark? Can love not be taught? Can it not be shown? Or am I just unteachable?

Can I still change my mind? Can I refuse to know of this "wondrous" feeling of love? I would rather take the stake in the heart than the knowing I can, and could not, have them. I can deal with the pain of my heart being torn apart, for I can always stitch and staple it back. But if I have never known of love, and it shatters instead of tears...what heart is left? What will is left? There would be none.

I think I will live in the dark. Still the words will pour from my lips, and still I will mean them with things of true importance. I will stick with the thick stake shoved into my heart with harsh words, and keep the stitches and glue nearby. Just keep this thing called love, this fickle little word...just it keep it from my person. I do not wish to know. I fear it will kill me, so please just keep your word. Wrap it in a mystery, drop it into the deepest depths of an enigma and never let me see it again. If I am to know, I will know...and if not?

Then I will live in the bliss of never having known heartbreak. And I will pity those who have.