Love and Robins

I used to believe in true love:
Unconditional, pure, healing, a dance of twin souls...
Someone’s said that before, I know,
But not at this particular moment,
Not in this room, and not with these eyes and the soul that hides behind.
I want to believe in love, in the power of love to overcome all.
To know that no matter what I do, I will be loved regardless.
That didn’t happen.
Love suspended is not pure, passive love is not healing,
For love to mean anything it must be active.
But active does not mean overwhelming, simply
Acting with the other’s best interest in mind.
Cradling their heart as if it were a robin’s egg:
Strong until dropped.
Love means not dropping that egg, not abandoning that soul,
Not blaming the other for life’s stormy seas.
True love should be caring, pure, a game of equals for lovers,
An open heart for family and friends.
A safe zone ruled by kindness and affection, not anger and accusations lurking beneath the surface, blocking out the other. Authority shouldn’t matter; in love, all are equal.
I used to believe in true love;
I have yet to see it.

But still, somehow, I believe...