David Senu

In the twenty-three years I have lived,
I have seen what pain can do to a man.
I have seen what jealousy can destroy,
what betrayal can steal,
and what silence can say
when words are no longer enough.
I have watched people promise forever
with the same mouths
they would later use to say goodbye.
I have seen hands that once held each other tenderly
become strangers,
and hearts that once beat in unison
learn to survive at different rhythms.
I have seen love.
Or perhaps, I have only seen
what people are willing to call love.
Because the older I grow,
the less certain I become
that I understand this thing at all.
And today,
I want to talk about it.

Not the love they put in songs,
nor the kind they sell in movies,
where two people find each other,
overcome a few obstacles,
and live happily ever after.
I want to talk about the love that stays
long after happiness has left.
The love that sits beside you in silence
while your mind begs you to walk away.
The love that knows every reason to leave
yet searches desperately for one reason to stay.
I want to talk about the love
that makes a fool of an intelligent man,
that turns certainty into questions,
strength into vulnerability,
and pride into a prayer whispered
to a God who may already know the answer.
Because somewhere along the way,
we have made love too beautiful to be understood.
We have dressed it in flowers,
perfumed it with promises,
and convinced ourselves
that if it hurts, it must be meaningful;
if it lasts, it must be true;
and if we cannot let go,
then perhaps we were never meant to.
But I have begun to wonder


whether our hearts are wiser than we think
or simply better at lying to us.
They say love is a feeling.
But feelings change.
The sun rises and sets.
Seasons abandon the trees they once adorned.
The same sky that welcomes the morning
eventually swallows the light.
And if love were merely a feeling,
what would remain when the feeling disappeared?
Perhaps love is a decision.
Perhaps it is sacrifice.
Perhaps it is the quiet determination
to choose another person
even on the days when choosing them
costs you something.
But even that explanation feels incomplete.
Because how do you explain the person
who has hurt you repeatedly,
yet whose happiness still matters to you?
How do you explain the anger
that rises in your chest
when you remember what they did,
followed by the unbearable tenderness