When I Met Love

When I met Love, he was not much older than me. Love had looked the way I
always thought it did. Brown. Slender. Handsome. He was taller than me and
dark-haired. Love had this slightly crooked smile that made me bend over
backwards for him…literally. He was the whole package. And I eagerly undressed
Love with every ounce of R.E.M that I could possibly dream of.

Now, when I met Love again, he sounded different. He was kinder; the tone of his
voice more gentle than our initial encounters. His whispers tickled the nape of my
neck and my body melted to the shape of his words. Love was like a smooth R&B
song that you could listen to for days; and boy, did he know the meaning of
“rhythm” and “blues”. Mmm.

Some months later, a new Love drifted into my life. He smelled like Spring — the
breath of fresh air, clean, but hauntingly attractive. He knew how to dress, sharp,
classy, simple. His cologne would pierce every nerve in my body, make my heart
twitch with each new craving. Love was too real for me to even comprehend.
Freshly baked cookies couldn’t mask his expertise for affection, Korean BBQ
couldn’t rid the traces of simple pleasures that soiled my skin. Love was like
those 4 packs of cigarettes smoked in your own car. Love lingered too closely
then. And he had me scared.

Fast forward a year or two later, and we met again. That night, Love handed me a
glass of wine, moscato to be exact. He was sweet, almost too sweet. But I didn’t
care. I wanted to taste vulnerability with every bite of the lip and with each
caress of the tongue. I wanted to taste the scars that marked his body like a knife
to a cutting board. Love was unrefined. Raw and passionate. But Love left as
quickly as he came.

Sooner or later, I realized that Love would someday walk into my life again.
Perhaps for the last time. And he did. He curled into my bed huddled beneath
layers of insecurity and seduction. Our legs interlocked like DNA strands in the
making. The firmness of the palms of his hands braced around my backside. The
feel of his hair through the cracks between my fingers. The lust that moved from
one kiss to the next. I felt Love … and Love was real.

And for the first time in 4 years, I realized that love never left. Love was the look
on his face when I agreed to be his one and only. Love was the sound of his heart
skipping rocks when we rode that roller coaster together. Love was the smell of
sushi dinners and buttered popcorn at the movies. Love was the taste of ecstasy
that first riddled my tongue with trust and sensitivity. Love was the touch that I
longed for when I was alone on restless nights. Love was and love is the very
thing that you mean to me. Love is Love. And Love is you.



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