My Love Proses

Prose 34: Reminders of Love

The spectacular, all-coruscating, panoramic stars seem to be lost out of nowhere tonight.

I remember grief crippling on my doorstep every time the sky cries tears of despair and tormenting pain while the flood creates hole to keep the remnants untouched.

I remember hope peeking over the cantaloupe horizon and pleading not to delay the rainbow for less than an hour before the sunset concludes it.

I remember faith hiding behind the patterns of valleys amidst thick clouds as it patiently wait for the rising dawn to surrender its resplendence right after the clock strikes at six.

I remember joy cradling the pigeons across the medieval bridge where I stand alone to witness every departing stage of aeroplane flight.

I remember loneliness rushing with adrenaline into the darkest corner and haplessly strangling any sound by the robust of silence.

I remember sorrow forcily shutting down the peace I once traced on the sand as my small footprints left memories that only waves can take all the way back ashore.

I remember fidelity as the world navigated my direction to the last roadmap of every infinite chance in vowing that forever still exist as long as the universe never said to let it end. If I had to tell one lie and meant it otherwise;

I remember it. The reminders of grief, hope, faith, joy, sorrow, fidelity. They made their all to be remembered.

Then, love came and took it all to let them be forgotten.

I forget love persuading the crickets to do intimate dance underneath the ethereal eclipse and gaze upfront to where the scarlet embers burns warmer than the fire of confession unsaid.

I forget love lulling each moon on the lifeboat and bargaining aquatic creatures for every supper miracle that seems to become beyond reach.

I forget love revitalizing the wonders of classic arts and their tonic of reflecting proximity against distance over refuge and cure.

I forget love diving down the depths of death and still alive enough to die for it.

I forget love encompassing another love only to be loved by lesser love out of the least.

I forget love teaveling as a tourist by aboarding on every piece of wanders to capture one perfect photograph of home.

I forget love and everything that has been made by it.

Then love came again for the next time around, and all I have ever forgotten was to forget I let it be disremembered

For after all this time, love is the only reminder that I can no longer forget to remember.