You

You are the one. The thought of you brings a smile to my lips and a tear to my eye. You hold my hand every summer as we lay staring at the clouds. Laughing every time a funny looking one rolls by. You kiss me in the rain. You hug me when I am scared, and write me poems when I am sad. Our conversations get me drunk like a bee on honey. It is all I will ever need.

You say we will travel. Together. Trains, old forts in the middle of nowhere, snow capped mountains, forest trails, skipping stones on rivers. Just breathing it all in.

You drive me to a farm just to read to me under the tree. You dance with me. You believe magic is candles and rocking chairs.

To you a perfect date is to snuggle together on a cold winters night and read a book. You know that nothing is more beautiful than watching the night sky.

Movies don’t always have color, neither do dreams. Music doesn’t always have lyrics. A painting is truly beautiful when you see that story it tells. A play is not just actors and dialogues it is a sea of emotions.

Like me you believe a house is incomplete without bookshelves, a piano, a gramophone, a jukebox, a grandfather clock and a trunk full of old things and memories.

You know we will grow wrinkly and old together. You know saying I love you isn’t important, because love is not a word it is a feeling. Then I will know. You are the one.

I don’t know if I will ever find you. This is my letter to you. If you read it I know you will come find me.

War and Peace

1180880_War-and-PeaceWar destroys all. All except love. Love is the first weed reaching for the sun in a battlefield scorched to the ground.

Love is that soldier’s letter saying he will be back, to hold her and to kiss her, and they will live together in a world where love conquers all.

Love is those people forced to hide in a bunker, knowing the world as they know it will end but they will always have each other.

Love is the innocence of a little girl looking onto a street with soldiers marching towards the horizon.

Love is the boy who went to fight battles he knew not for whom or why and returns a man who knows war is not glory.

Love is a song sung after a long days fight, a howl of sorrow, the sound of unfurled flags. And love is that fleeting moment of silence before the next bombing.

Love is that comrade who gives his life to save his friend who has a wife and a daughter waiting for him back home.

Love is the elixir that keeps the injured alive. Love is every helping hand and every tearing eye.

Love is the wreaths, candles and prayers. Love is never to forget.

Love is a nurse holding the hand of a man wounded in battle, letting him know to die is easy, but to survive takes real courage.

Love is the hope of a better tomorrow. People may not survive wars, but love always does.

Love is not war. Love is peace.