What is love, truly?

I long to greet the sun with ‘Good morning’, yet my days have lost their bright.

My days and nights are dark My pen lies in dark the tears flowing from my eyes are dark…

What you’ve seen is just a tiny fraction of my frame collection, about one percent. You haven’t seen the rest yet, which is ninety-nine percent.

They kept mentioning me, “Heartless she is… Find love, choose one, they insist. Why doesn’t she fall in love with anyone?” First, all the men they wanted me to fall for were married.

If wealth and power were my quest, Perhaps I’d find someone to rest. But love, I craved, a soul to share, I was like a million years, in a loveless cage.

How could I love those who inflicted and watched, and those who let it be… cruel sanctions, assassination attempts, and daily terrorist attacks on me? They physically and mentally destroyed me, enabling it all. They broke my spirit, leaving me feeling lifeless.

What is love, truly? Isn’t it about wanting not a single hair of the one you love to be harmed? Wouldn’t one wipe away gently their loved one’s tears in darkest days?

Would one not leave them in shadows deep, But be their sun, their moon, their promises to keep? Would one not rise against those who cause them pain, What was love? Joy in the rain?

Hmph, I suppose my soul will never meet with love.

Do not love me, you don’t know how to love…