run

We run from love,

run-

as the vines of fear

and reluctance thrive in

and creep up

our hearts and

cripple and maim love,

coils of hesitance choking

willingness,

because love is cruel and

hearts difficult to mend.

Better then, so much easier

to not love altogether than

go through  excruciating agony

on account of unloving.

Of undoing what was,

dismantling

what-could-have-been,

forgetting maybes

and dousing flames in hearts that

burn and break

with freezing reality

checks that leave

nothing.

They tell us that love

is all conquering,

forgetting the

pillage and pain that

love (or lack thereof)

renders on the soul.

Forgetting

that conquest is never

calm, nor is it ever peaceful.

When victory is proclaimed

there are casualties aplenty.