Sweetheart, you have blood on your shirt where your heart's meant to be.

Love ain't for the faint hearted.
Yet for the faint hearted, love is the only hope, lesson, rock solid consistency that can keep their feeble hearts from crashing. Dismiss Disney's "love at first sight" and "true loves kiss". Nothing truly good was ever so easy (Christianity included).

Down to the knitty-gritty, I've never fallen in love in the romantic sect. Never. I've come very close, in my immature and childish infatuations, twice. That's it. The fridget inside me flirts but refuses commitment to anyone I'd even doubt: namely everyone (geez louise, she'll never find it).

But love, the silent hero love, beaten and bruised and still as unrelenting as freshly begun; completely unrelated to forbidden infatuations and infedelities and trivial sexual intimacies. That, I am familiar with. The love that hits the dirt and grabs the flame you're about to douse yourself in; the love that watches me walk away and still insists to be where I left it when I feel like returning; the love that wants to be returned but doesn't have to be. The love that wouldn't run away with me but would remind me of the necessity to fight for the things worth fighting for. Love ain't a coward, nor is it selfish.

Sweetheart, lift ya head a little, looking at the hole in your chest ain't gonna grow a heart. We better start looking for it now. It was ripped out pretty hard wasn't it? Well where did you last see it? That needs to heal.

That's the love I know... and the love I've been shown.

Where is yours?
I'll help you look for it.