Some say that love is like spring.
Forgive me,
but I disagree.

Spring is wonderful.
Full of life.
Color.
Laughter.

That’s not love.

It’s more, I think, like falling in love.
Innocent.
Naïve.
It fades.
Then, it rains.
Washes away.
But, if we survive, we see the winter.

Winter is cold.
It is bitter, fierce, with biting winds.
It is lonely.
Full of icy silence.
You wish each night for it to go away.

But.

You don’t want that, do you?
You take a step back.
Through the wind, and the pain,
You see a bitter, bloody, untouchable beauty.
Heaven or Hell.
Depends on how you see it.

That’s love.