I wish to write a love song, a love song for creation itself, yet, in a peculiar sort of way, creation itself feels like one great love song– one great love story —

Does anyone else feel the way I do?

How can I profess my love when all things feel like love itself? How can I express adoration when your beauty has overwhelmed me so? How can I mutter words of praise when the vibrating strings of my heart are pulled so taut, so tense, strained, strained, strained by your beauty, ah, it may break without release — pleasure and pain as one, yes, there’s no difference — it’s so pleasureful that it’s painful — it’s so pleasureful that it demands all of my awareness, it commands every cell of my being, every single atom, proton, electron, neutron called to attention, it is pleasure that brings forth past sorrows and unprocessed griefs, for these must be cleared out of the way for me to fully bear witness to your glamour and beauty and brightness, the aches and pains of the past fog the lens of my soul — but I’ll mourn and weep and cry out of ecstasy to bear witness to your grace. It is the truest form of tears of joy. I’ve learned something about the wounds of the past that harden hearts — it is not stone that forms over the heart — it is ice. To learn to love again is to thaw that fixed water, from glacier to ocean, to oceans of love. Love is painful at its beginning because of this thawing process, love is painful at its end because of loss — there’s something beautiful about sadists and masochists, these people who unite sexual pleasure with intense pain — I think that’s the closest thing to lovemaking I can fathom, to make sexuality a metaphor for love — what else is the experience of being in love but the sensation of being totally bound and tied? What is it to give your heart to another but to be at their mercy, in bondage? It may be the greatest form of submission that I know, it may be the greatest form of masochism that I know, for anyone who’s loved so foolishly as I would know how willingly you’d let someone you’ve given your heart to hurt you. Anyone who’s loved so foolishly as I would know how easy it is to let your heart be like Pandora’s box, its opening turning your own wounds inadvertently into sadism, that the scars over your own heart can far too easily turn into scars over another’s without great care. This force that can be so unbearable to live with! This force that can be so unbearable to live without! I think a piece of me both dies and comes alive every time I fall in love. That force that shows me where I’m still a child, that force that makes me want to become a man. 

Love.