Love is such a stunning remedy.
Chest firmly braced.
Many times has it come to my rescue.
The shiny armour that has saved me on so many occasions.
Offering a pure exchange of a momentary moment.
A swift ultimatum.
Its dynamic impossible to recreate.
Those moments that you must be ready to allow, or dismiss completely.
So potent a risk.
So irresistible an option.
The thing is, the “saving love” is fit for its purpose.
But what about when there isn’t one to be saved.
What about when there is no brokenness to remedy.
Because I’m feeling rather complete.
Questioning therefore, the purpose of love.
There seems to be no room.
Is there a love that doesn’t need to save.
Is there a love that has a rightful place within completeness.
Where nothing is needed.
What if love and I do not need each other
But instead, we choose each other.
What if we complete our completeness
With a love of completion.
Like a Sun that doesn’t accumulate the debts of the universe it serves.
Like the air that gives life but doesn’t ask for repayment from those living off of it.
Is it possible.
Are we possible.
Could I allow the impossible.
A love remedied
For the unremedied