“Love is dead…”
at least so many
people tend to
claim.
As if it ever lived
outside of choices
that we make.
In truth, however,
most of us
don’t have the liver
to metabolize..
what truest love,
in practice,
may entail.

Which kind of love
is truest?
Is it not the love
that parents
ought to have
for their own child?
The One you cannot
simply just forsake..
because you’re
duty-bound
to help them
reach their happiness..
whatever it may take.

So even when
they frustrate you..
you don’t just go
and find another
child instead.
Because you’ve sworn
to love and cherish
and protect
your own..
until you’re dead.

There is a child
that lives inside
us all..
The One we
learn to hide away.
The One
that loves to live
and lives to love
and play.
With age, we harden
and grow calloused
to protect ourselves..
but the little baby
we once were
remains in us..
it’s always there.

To truly love
is to observe
that inner child
within another.
To be your strongest
and your softest
for each other.
To never smother with control,
to never make them question
whether you still care..
to hold them closely
when they need
you there.

For, it is true..
You’re not their mother
nor are you their father.
You’re so much more.
Because their liver
chose you..
as their lover.