Love and a Lion

Me and Mrs. Me

If ever I did marry, I fancied the sentiment of marring family. A comprehension inspired by a need for absolute trust and loyalty—built on a premise: family never fails.

I never quite asked these questions:

What is family?

What does it mean to have family?

Who is my family?

I thought these questions were for pessimists. I was Love—full of hope and faith. And all of what was love, and had love in them, were my family.

“I had a big family!”—with budding ambitions to expand, I loved all fiercely!

I saw ‘her’ essence and perhaps all I wanted to see. Our relationship started at the depths of our dreams.

I loved her from the inside, and pushed through to the surface of her skin.

She was family. My love for her was simple: unselfish. Not as fiery or deeply passionate as other love affairs but patient, kind and submissive. I admired it: the gentleness of my affection. I admired what I thought to be her loyalties, enduringness and selfless devotion.

I wondered, “is this God’s love; is this ‘Truelove’?”