The Opposite of Love
The opposite of love is not hate,
but rather apathy.
It is not observing rain fall
and despising the way one droplet
covers a mere square inch
while precipitation in whole
can span entire continents,
but rather not caring whether or not
the rain fell at all.
And perhaps the rain did not fall
allowing the ground to grow
parched and crackled like lips
with too many words to say
but not enough breath to say them aloud.
It is not detesting the way milk
compliments cereal during
2:00 am. adventures in the dark
then promises to soil
in a matter of minutes,
but rather not bothering to
pour milk at all.
And perhaps the milk had spoiled
in the fridge long before anyone
bothered to check the expiration date
on the items and things not meant to last.
It is not mistaking a kaleidoscope
for a telescope and hating
the way reality through one glass—
the bending of light on convex lenses
can never be as vibrant and geometric and colorful
as the light reflected amongst mirrors,
but rather not wanting to
look inside at all.
And perhaps no one did look upon a telescope
to look out to sea or up at night sky
and wonder if there is, or ever will be,
something more than all of this.
It is, however,
the way sand is the most
complex puzzle in the world
that nobody bothers to put back together.
It is the way an open bottle
of flat champagne
both holds and lacks so much potential.
It is the way hair tangles in sleep
and sheets wrinkle in stillness
and heavy sighs are mistaken
for sleepy exhales
with backs turned, arms crossed
and eyes wide, wide open.
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