Love Is Like An Apple

I'm tired and lonely and eating apples. Don't mind me, I'm just loopy.

Is love not like an apple? Or any food, for that matter? For instance, if I am hungry and I choose to eat an apple, it is merely a small bit to tide me over until something bigger I will consume later on. Some people cut off the bruises and blemishes on the skin. Some people slice it so it's easier, or perhaps less of a mess. It's not as if these small impurities would kill you, though. See, it's all for the aesthetic. Our consumption is purely based on the beauty of that which we consume.

Then there are the people who will pick up any apple they choose, despite what it may look like. It could be a bit battered, perhaps even a little underripe or past its prime. They won't cut it up. Instead they bite into it straight away, and maybe don't even think of it as a simple snack. To some people an apple is a meal.

Is that not what we do with our love? With the people we love, or say that we love? We can choose to try and scrape off the impurities on someone to make them just right for us. But that isn't love. Love is taking someone, battered and bruised as they are�"all of them�"and caring for them regardless. Love...real love. That is unconditional.

I don't mean you need to love your food like that, of course. By all means, eat an apple that doesn't taste half rotten and immediately turn to brown mush in your mouth. But do you not find it amazing? How life has a way of showing you the strangest of metaphors? How you could go day in and day out being that person who feels the need to slice up an apple so that each little piece is seemingly perfect?

And then how, one day, you find an apple so distinctly flawless. Perfectly ripe, crisp and juicy, a beautiful shade of red or green or what have you...and you decide to just bite into it. The perfect apple. It fills you up and you don't even feel the want or need to eat a meal a few hours later.

And that is how love is like an apple.