If I were to blinker myself into a myopic view of love, and only think of the kind of love I do not currently have, then love would feel like grabbing at mist; dissipating beyond reach, leaving only a damp, cold feeling and a lopsided heart whose left chamber pumps out more love than its right receives.
But love? Love may be a four letter word but it is a world in itself.
Love touches every part of me, just as surely as the sun kisses each cheek of the day’s horizon.
Love is everywhere I turn. It is as big or small as I define and confine it.
Love finds me in a friend’s call; a family dinner; a lunch break with a colleague; a thank you from a stranger; the street lights that keep me safe and the trees that offer shade on the walk home; the birds that sticky beak their way into my mornings and rummage through my front veranda for their day’s meal.
But mostly, love finds me in the company of youngest sister. The other day, as I waited for my train, this sudden urge welled up inside me, and I became impatient to get home and give her a hug. As if in that hug was the fulfillment of love itself. By hugging her, I was hugging all the love I have in this world.
Love, four letters long but a world in itself.