Who was your first love?

Who was your first love?

Who was mine?

Who was hers? 

Who was his?

Who knows for certain if they have encountered love?

Who can predict when, how, and the speed of their love steadfast? 

It is beautiful -

The love.

It is like a million sunrises filled with hope of new day,

Love is like a thousand new babies, born of an acute impossibility.

Love is the mystery of a good book, and the beauty of it's ending.

Love it like a mother and the birth of her new, glowing child.

Love is like the creation of a solar system, born of a collapsed star.

Love is beautiful like youth, wise as old age.

Love is the broken heart of a woman cheated. 

Love is the forgiveness of a pure mind.

Love is Life and the incomprehensive splendor of its coincidental existence.

My first love took a dozen and one years to form.

My first love was born of determination and a mind fed up with being broken and tortured.

My first love was - and still is - the only love I hold to my heart. 

My first love is that for my skin, and it's raw complexity. 

My first love is for my muscles and tendons, the burdens they bear.

My first love is for my heart and blood, the sole constant I have.

My first love is for my limbs, and the expression they allow me, for the people they allow me to care for.

My first love is for my eyes and the crude pulchritude they allow me to witness.

My first love is for the depths of my core and the abilities it gives me to bear life.

My first love is for my mind, the worlds I may build in a half of a moment. 

My first love is for what my mother built for nine months in the warmth of her womb. 

My first love took long to discover

but was worth every pain it endured along the way. 

First loves should be that of yourself, no one else. 

If one gives away their love before alloting yourself a portion, is it truly love?

Or is it a byproduct of self depreciation manifesting itself in ways that one believes will earn love from others

as a form of validation. 

When truly the validation we seek is that from ourselves. 

The love of yourself is better and more beautiful than;

a million sunrises,

a thousand new lives

the mystery of a good book,

a mother and the birth of her newborn,

the creation of solar systems,

youth and old age,

a broken heart

forgiveness

life itself.

Reviews

[Madeleine Celeste]

This is absolutely stunning. Your form is very nice and I can tell that many resonate with your ideas. Lovely, lovely job. Keep writing!