Those who say that young love is foolish
are, themselves, the fools.

To those critics, I ask only this:

Is it the young or the old whose marriages
fail in the 40’s and 50’s of percents?

Is it the young or the old who argue
in the early hours of the morning who loves whom more?

Is it the young or the old who stumble,
time and time again, like newborn foals, into the arms of another?

Is it the young or the old who steal
forbidden kisses from one another, hidden from those who contest their romance?

Is it the young or the old who explore
each other’s ripe bodies with unsure, yet excited hands?

Is it the young or the old who deny
others of their love based on their sexual preferences or appetites?

Is it the young or the old who live
and love tenderly but restlessly, as though each moment were their last?


I do not mean to insult the wisdom of love that has been forged through painful experience, quite the opposite.

I merely mean to say that age is foolish when it underestimates and forgets the vigor of youth.
And age seems to have forgotten, lately.

To be young and to be haplessly in love is to love purely and innocently.
To be young is to be free of the cynicism that lost love brings.
To be young is to be in love, and to love is to be young.