The hardest truth

I once asked, how do you describe love? Is it her beauty that makes you feel as if she's an angel sent from above. Is it her brown eyes that pierce's through your soul? Or is it the feeling of her soft skin when, tis her hand you hold. People often tell me she's all but in the past, why is it her name remains on your lips, as you wear a fake smile, upon that mask. She indeed is a distant memory and the best part of my past. Whenever I think of her the smile on my face, isn't from a mask. Her name on my lips is all that remains as does the winter mist. I still remember what it tasted like with her last kiss. She always gave me peace by just holding me close. Her dimples so deep and her smile I loved the most. So what is love if it isn't these feelings that describes how special you feel. Waking up to her every morning, and thanking God every night, while I pray and kneel. Love is eternal and captures everything pleasant within your soul, you feel her warmth and love even though she is no longer yours to hold. The mistakes you make along the way trying to find her, in someone new. Leaves aside heart break and pain for quite a few. Love is a gift that isn't wrapped up all colourful and sweet. Love is a feeling when you look into her eyes for the first time when you meet. Love is a memory which you try so hard to forget with smile as you do so for everyone you greet. Peace is never found so easily and is never sweet. The truth is simple and we choose to refuse acceptance of the same. Love is just a reminder that we are but pawns, in this game. Her name shall remain on my lips, the feeling of her hair on my fingertips. Her memories shall always give me a scare. My love for her will always be with care. It's just that I can no longer be there especially when she calls me, I can't run in a heartbeat to rescue her and be at her aid. Someone else is there to make her feel great. Someone else to hold her tight during a long walk after a date. Someone else to give her what I couldn't at best. Upon someone else's chest for her head to rest. Someone else's hand in hers while she journeys down this road. Someone else to show her the world he now holds. That is love, mine was but an infatuation which she saw through and chose the other. As we part ways love will help me find another. So what is love describe it for me in anyway? I wish I had an answer and knew what comes next? Love cannot be described but faced through the hardest test.

Written and composed by
Timothy Justin Rudolph Rodricks