They never talked.
Hate hated love.
But love never understood why.
Hate used to love, until he lost his way.
He had friends like Fear and War. He felt safe behind their walls.
In fact, Hate wanted to build an even bigger wall.
Hate loved to put on masks.
Love hated masking her heart.
Hate was popular. He got support from many.
Love was quiet, but she spread like perfume in the air.
Hate was strong, a jumper. Straight to conclusions.
Love was soft, a breeze. Patiently listening.
Love wanted to meet Hate. Love wanted a date.
And so they stumbled upon one another one night.
Hate could barely look Love in the eyes.
Because Love Was like a Poem.
But not your ordinary one.
She didn't rhyme or repeat
But she flowed.
Love was a poem.
Filled with similes and metaphors.
She is like and she is not like.
She spoke as if an allusion. Reminding Hate of a time and place he may have seen. Or dreamed.
Love was a poem.
She pronounced his heart beats clearly.
She paused at just the right times.
Sometimes a hyperbole. Exaggerating thoughts.
Sometimes a paradox. Confusing. Reassuring.
A comma, waiting to say something more.
A fragment, not afraid to stand alone.
A period.
Knowing one day she would also end.
Love was a poem, and Love did not hesitate to embrace Hate as he was.
And she changed him in an instant.
Love taught Hate to open his clenched fists.
To take off his mask.
To open his eyes.
Love taught Hate that it was ok not to understand.
Love taught Hate her peaceful ways and Hate remembered his way back home again.
Love was a poem.
Love was a teacher.
And she taught Hate to Love again.
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