to the girl next door,
love is the last two minutes of a movie,
when two people kiss in flaming sunsets,
then ride off to elysian fields.
to the woman across the street,
love is a perfect man on a paper book,
embracing a flawless woman in bliss.
I beg to differ,
if I may borrow your time.
love is not a kiss,
it is the spark between two joining souls.
love is not a diamond on the finger,
it is a band around the heart.
love does not grow in golden sun,
but in darkness where it is the only star,
that only your eyes (and his) see.
I have followed this star
and it never dimmed.
in Hollywood's world,
love is a dialogue in a worn-out script,
recited by bored beauties with scarlet lips
and limousines waiting out back.
on the glittering Broadway stage,
love is the crescendo at the end of the song,
a momentary swelling of music
quickly fading after the last note sounds.
I beg to contradict
if I may challenge your view.
love is not a script,
it is the words you whisper when death seems near.
love is not a rose, common and cheap.
it is Eden's last violet.
love is not sung to great applause,
but in silence when two hearts beat in tandem
and two veins hum with one blood.
I have bleed this blood
and sung this melody.
to my own heart,
love is the last two minutes before he left me,
when we basked in our own shared sunset
then parted to face twilight alone.
to the secrets of my own soul,
love is a scarred man in a corrupt world,
embracing a scarred girl in darkness,
the cost etched across both our skins.
This is love.
and of this I am proud.
The Wolverine & Rogue Fanfiction Archive
Barely Legal Since 2000