Some say love...

I am not sure what it means that everything I just wrote deleted when I went to post. Is that what love is? I had a whole blog about how Bette Midler has been singing in my head all day. She doesn't even know the words to the song. "Some say love, it is a river, that blah, blah, blah, blah, blah." Really Bette, you should know the words to the song by now. If you don't, you shouldn't harass me by singing the song in my head.

I can't believe it all deleted. Tell me to "let it go", "move on", "shake it off". I am trying, but the effort, the thought, the flow is lost now. All I can think is that I was trying to suggest that love couldn't be boxed in or confined. We would like to think of love as this finite thing, but really, it is so far outside of the realm of our thought that we can't fathom it. I wish we could. I try to, but it moves outside the scope of my understanding.

Now that I have already written the blog once, I am kind of done thinking about it. I am going to move on to reading about love. Not the kind of love in a romance novel, but the amazing love that I can't understand. The kind of love that accepts, forgives, and serves. It is not something I can put into words. It doesn't look like a river, or a razor, or a rose. Those pictures are telling and descriptive, but, they are not the love that I hope I can experience or offer. In reality, I know I won't experience this extravagant kind of love until I am on the other side of this life. Until then, I want to experience life and love in such rich, full, and life-changing ways that I won't settle for anything less.

Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dyin'
that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose