This love

by Anjela Bignell
http://www.guerrillalove.com/

This love. It comes sniffing at my shoes cautiously. Bright eyed, doughy and gullible, pouncing on me when I least expect it. All slobbery jowl, silly and insane; this thing we call love. God, how my mind becomes consumed with thoughts of being smothered by this adorable mass of lovable flesh. Or the scent of love on my pillow that causes me to ache when you are gone.

What a stupid, intangible fairytale of bliss we weave. How did we think it could last forever? I see her in the corner of my eye wherever we go. Her laugh magnified and personified by the dark parts of my mind. I think of how quaintly she could fit in your pocket, how eloquently this pint-sized poppet would fit snugly under your shoulder, peering up at you with big, brown sweaty eyes. Panting softly. Bitch.

I still remember the moment your billowy lips lingered just for a second over my mouth, as I waited resolutely for my kiss that day. Only for you to miss quite purposefully, and breath those hot words of halitosis in my ear.

“I have met someone else.”

I felt sick. A cruel sickness in my stomach. My snake-like innards convulsing and writhing in panic until it is suddenly still. Dead.

I liken love to the changing of seasons. The sweetness of some delicious fruit: dripping, tempestuous, red, soft, pungent aroma bathed in sunlight. Then dropping to the ground as the coldness sets in. So too does the intensity of grief, loss and bitterness of the fruit on my tongue.

Spring is almost here now. The dew has lifted and that sense of renewal is upon us. I am in love again. This time it is real and not like some silly, sloppy, obsessive mongrel at my doorstep; but pure and real and here to stay.