Love in the Time of Cholera

Love, had always been understood by me,
to be as important as the air we breathe.
It was the painter who coloured the leaves,
and changed them from tomato-red to asparagus-green.

Lauded in all lands, it is the subject of much lore,
sometimes there is no story line without a girl worth fighting for.
Although love is celebrated everywhere from Bangkok to Beijing,
it has also resulted in its share of suffering.

If love lifts us up where we belong, and it is all we need,
then peace should not be overlooked in order to satisfy greed.
If love is all the many-splendoured things that I have heard,
it should easily be able to repair the broken spirits around the world.

As a child, love was often portrayed to me as a rapidly beating heart,
or as cartoon pupils that were transfixed, and had been replaced by stars.
Love was in the first kisses that occurred whilst hanging from monkey bars,
and also in the thrill we shared from breaking rules by staying out ‘til after dark.

Now that I am older, and have fallen in love twice,
I know that if it ever returns, that it would never suffice.
It is said that the third time’s a charm, but I refuse to take the risk;
I would rather remain closed off to love, than to ever return to its abyss.

Romance, you see, is not for the weak,
for it will adore you mere moments before it is thrashing your cheek.
It is surely better to never have loved at all, than it is to have loved and lost,
as no amount of time, effort, or money could ever be worth the emotional cost.

Upon your arrival into love, you will always be certain to recognize all of your heart’s desires,
until it dawns on you, once you’re kicked out, that you are swimming in gasoline, and surrounded by raging fire.
Unconditional love is destined to end, just as ‘eternally yours’ begs the question"'til when?"
I would rather remain closed off to love, than let myself be vulnerable again.