with love as primary source

​

Innocence and love. 

How are you supposed to know you are innocent. 

How are you to know you love. 

With open arms and wide, open, clear eyes, 

you jump in straight to the front first. 

You are a mini superhero. 

You are pure and full of it. 

Love making your bones hold you up. 

Love powering your whole being. 

You are. Because you are love.

A set of sweet breaths and sighs, a couple of turns till you are comfy, you are as easily dazzled as you are scared. Your glistening eyes exploring a room of endless possibilities. You are so adored, so admired, that you are only able to adore and admire back. 
You become, you coexist, you are formed out of the never-ending vacillating flow of feeling and flesh and energy. You are born to be loved. You are born to love. 
You become, because you are love.

With sadness more bitter than previous need-related cries, you cry knowing something is different. 
You are detached. The most awful of all horrors. 
You are separate, and now must seek to create your own love, from scratch.

A chest full of warmth, 

only seeking to hold a hand, 

waiting for all direction and help to be handed out with complete trust.

And when self-worth and independence kick in overnight, 

when teasing and sticking out the tongue with anger come to play, 

(bitterly and with such malicious intent)

it won't seem like love at all, anymore. 

It won't matter how innocent, how small or how recent you are. 

An experiment, in learning to trust, one step at a time, as I grow closer to my own again, and form a perfect loop. to complete. the circle.