What is Love, when it's Not a Cunt?

Something I wrote to a Princess of Darkness...

It's like... the bird that you set free, even though you loved it so much, but in your respect and love you wanted it to live life as it pleased. And then you woke the next morning to find that same bird that you loved, tapping at your window. And you felt so happy for that instant, because at least one being in the world thought that freedom was being with you.

It's like the couple who're walking down the street arm in arm, in the cold and dark, and they're walking a little slower than all the other couples. Because, for them, the street isn't just a street. It's a cocoon for them and their love for each other. Just like the city around them, the country, the world and its peoples are parts of a shell specially built to encase their union, to be explored by them, even though in their exploration of the world they know they're really exploring themselves.

It's when the depth of sex becomes so powerful, so meaningful that it's no longer a physical release, it's an emotional release which you could never find in a night, a month or a year of exploration. When sex is no longer the act of 'touching this' or 'doing that', but instead becomes a conversation - the type of deep exchange of words that lasts well into the night and you forget how long you've been speaking for - a dialogue on another, elevated level, where every breath in your ear, every brush of the skin, every hair you feel against your face is another word or statement or poem.

It's where the bond you share becomes so deep and fulfilling, that exploring its beauty becomes paramount, and deepening it further becomes so much more important than tasting other possibilities.

It's where "I", "You", "We" and "Us" start to blur, not in a confusing way, but in a way where the reassurance is total and the comfort is there as though it's been there all your life and you wonder why you were ever afraid.

It's where the walls start to crumble and your deepest depths and secrets tangle in each other and create new and exciting places to explore and learn in. And some of those walls were the outer walls - where you thought your limits where - but you find that they fall with the rest and all that's left is a joyous secret that can't be told because nobody except you could or would want to understand. And that's fine.

It's love, man. It's pop lyrics and strawberries.

But usually it's a cunt.

I didn't write those last bits in the actual letter, which is probably burning in Hades somewhere with demons pointing and laughing at its charred remains.