Some people think that love is a ready-made thing. It’s there, intact and whole. All you need to do is find it or wait for someone special to give it to you. And then it’ll be there forever to own and cherish.
But those who have been in love or have had a romantic relationship know only too well that it’s not like that at all. Love is fluid, ethereal, ephemeral. It’s delicate and probably fragile. It can’t stand rough handling and ignorance. It’s not even there, tangible to hold and keep. You can’t keep it in a pocket and store it to retrieve every now and then when you feel like touching it or admiring its beauty.
The heart is where its home is, they say. But where in the heart?
You can’t have a surgery and expect to see it there hiding behind the flesh and blood that a heart is.
No, love is not a tangible thing, much less ready-made. It’s a living thing, ethereal and spiritual thing. It has a life of its own, a mind of its own. And like any other living things, it needs feeding and caring, the right place to live and prosper. And like any other living things, it too can die.
Love’s death may of course be forever or just a door to another life, depending on how you see death. It may move on to be resurrected later in the eternity or simply disappear from your time and space to be recycled or reincarnated in a different form, time and space.
It doesn’t matter what you believe in. What matters is that it has a life of its own. If you want it to be with you, you’ve got to make the effort to keep it alive and well.
Love is not a ready-made thing handed to you on a gold platter for you to keep and have forever. It’s not even a thing – its substance is as elusive as your feelings and thoughts are. It has a life of its own. You can connect with it but not own it. You can dance with it but not tell it to do things for you. It’s not your servant, although you might be its.