Under a tree, sandwiched between branches of leaves and blades of grass. Looking at the vast ocean and its crashing waves just ahead of my eyes. I explored all kinds of love. I explored its looks, feel, sound and taste. 

Love looks ordinary. Like the two slices of sandwich that you munch down daily, or even like the tear of the sun’s glimmer in between wavering leaves. Love is everyday, like the colour of ripe tomato as light rays collide on them or the penetration of the sun below a plateau during a bon soir (good evening). Love’s presence brings about the extraordinary. The impossibility of you recreating the same existence hits you in your reverie. Yet, it happens whether you are present or oblivious. Even after you have memorised it, you are undone altogether by its presence. 

It tastes like the muffin mixture before you place it in the oven. Insert a finger in the mixture, then transfer onto your tongue. Decide to suckle and you are left in trouble. You have let the sweetness frenzy trip you over. Nothing else seems to matter, you think another taste is all you need… Before long you’re feeding a guilty pleasure. You tread carefully so it doesn’t run out. Greedy suckles become tentative licks. After all, it isn’t the finished product like the belly suggested. Too much of it is poisonous and holds you captive.

Love loves to climb on top of you and envelope you with kisses tender on your body and yet fierce on your lips, translating its passions into actions. It caresses your chest and teases your waistline. Giving not and taking yet. Promising this and being stingy with that.

Love sounds faint in the beginning, it’s all gasps for air, then impatient pants, afterwards a sigh of comfort out of undeniable pleasure. As time rushes along love shrieks. Its sweet little nothings as well as holy names carry weight in the air. Sounds of love are accompanied by whispers of wind, kissings of leaves, tweets of birds beckoning on one another and crushing waves of swoosh and whoosh.