I began to look through my past experiences of what I thought Love meant. I grew up thinking Love was someone or something you would 'one day meet'. Get married, be lucky enough to bring kids into the world and live together until you are old and covered in wrinkles. Love as a (final) destination, a place you travel towards and then 'arrive' and settle. When I met Love, it felt like the best train stop possible, We're here! Together, kids, this is it.
This, Place, Here, Forever. After a long while I started to realize that Love was never really a train stop. No destination, no station. Chaos on the tracks. No more tracks, where were they? Once seen so clearly, now seemingly gone, covered by mountains of leaves (Falling from trees that never have any thoughts about letting go, they just let go, that is their nature). I'm trying to hold on, get a firm grip on things, because I think that's better for everybody because letting go feels like the end, of everything.
What if Love is the train I have always been on. What if it was Love all along that took me to all those destinations. What if after all it was Love that held me when all those views flashed by, the beautiful, the dark, the blissed out happy ones and all the shatteringly painful ones. What if it is Love that sometimes stays still and silent, then takes me along in rapid movements. What if I trust that, where ever it may take me. Knowing it's o.k. to want to 'hold on', but it's extra painful to hold on instead of letting go. As Love will surely move onto its next destination, with or without my permission.
What if Love is everything. Light and dark, here and there, warm and cold, light and heavy. Then I am here already, I am Love, in every moment.