#you cannot escape the shape of the image that you reflect and refract and contain and express

[babsbabbles]

you hear all this poetry about love being an open bleeding heart and hands splayed out and reaching, and that is true, but love is more than blood and hearts and hands. it is sweat and sorrow and stumbling full force and weak kneed. it is reaching forward and reaching back and reaching upward and reaching down. it is lungs and livers and stomachs and feet. love is played on the body like an instrument, it is stored in the body and preserved, it is poured out from the body like insence and oil. the thing that greases your insides is love. the thing that wove your sinew is love.