Is love a decorative toy?
Something we can push around or destroy.
Is love nothing but a dream?
A gentle illusion so grand
and warm like the touch of a hand.
Is love like a gentle song?
With words that go for miles,
but it only lasts for a while.
Love exists in many ways,
little by little, day by day.
It has the ability to grow,
the ability to change,
the ability to shrink
and the ability to change it's range.
But it doesn't matter how love looks,
even if it's you it spooks.
With it we play,
not aware that it can go away.
About it we dream,
hoping we'll be redeemed.
To it we listen
hoping it will sing to us.
But whatever love is,
it is something inside of us,
Something we miss.
Whatever love is.
I am absent of it.
