The Ramblings of a Lover

by Maurine Kim

A romantic writer might describe love as a deep and intense emotion that stirs the soul. Love, in the view of the greats, is a magical force, capable of inspiring great passion, wonder, even devotion.

But… I’m not a writer, not a romantic.

Not anymore.

I know times are hard. The pen often lies idle, ink dry, lying on the desk now only dedicated for what’s needed…never what’s wanted. Even my heart’s constant hum now grows silent. And no longer can I spin tales of pure delight.

How can anyone? The world is in a state of storyless blues and it’s becoming more and more easier to write tragedies than love stories. Nations are falling, families are weeping, friends are leaving, romance is dead.

Or so I thought.

I have always been drawn to the complex emotion that is love and have written countless pieces exploring it in all its different forms. But it wasn’t until recently when I thought I lost love, that I truly found it.

I’m not a writer, not a romantic, but…

Love is the car ride home, instead of the rush-hour commute. Love is the subtlety of a shade of pink, not the harsh reds. Love is in random numbers that hold a person’s echo. Love is not explosive or grand, but always there, Love is a simple pleasure, beyond compare. Love is ever-enduring, never fades away, Love is a tribute, always here to stay.

Love is a paragraph that turns into a poem. It takes many forms, in laughter and in tears, In joy and sorrow, throughout the years. It’s the warm embrace, of someone who cares, A comfort in life, that’s always there.

So here’s to love, in all its forms, A beautiful paradise, always warm. It’s a treasure, that’s always worth the seek, A love that lasts forever and a week.

I’m not a writer, not a romantic... I’m a lover.