Like It's All I know

Everyday, I try to love like it's the only thing I know. I have carried the weight of disappointment like feathers on my back. There are days that I have to remind myself to celebrate my ability to carry on, comparing my "small burdens" to the crosses of those who have been through more, discounting pain that I've known due to the countless fields that my neighbors have drudged through. Then I remember how airtight I have sealed off the unpleasant memories of plans that didn't go my way, friends that took off their masks, and family that made me search high and low in Webster's for the definition. There is pain, unbeknownst to the outside world because it shows up like flowers, and blossoms like zinnias, time after time when I am reminded of how I have risen from the dirt and ignored the weeds along the way. I am exactly who God designed me to be, and so it is written, everyday, I try to love like it is the only thing I know. When I search through the crowd for the men who have protected me from the hands of the men who wish me no good, it doesn't take me long to count the faces. Then I look down at these calloused hands and my muscular heart, from being overworked to protect myself and fight for my ability to love, and I instantly feel that strength that others have tried to tell me I don't have. And everyday, I try to love like it's the only thing I know.