Love is Not a Choice

God should have known better.

Am I going to hell for saying that? Does God care or even exist? I don't know. Such questions are far above my pay grade.

The whole thing was madness, and I chose it willingly, not just once but over and over, each day and every night. I knew exactly what was at stake, how completely I had surrendered, and I did not care. I loved her helplessly, gloriously, as if she were a magnet and every tiny iron rod in my body had aligned and pointed toward her.

What is love? From where does it come, simple biology wired into our DNA or is it more of a spotlight coming down through the clouds from heaven? Is it ever really a choice to love, or not to love? I know people who say they are happy on their own, who don't need or want a companion, but I'm not certain I believe them, or at least all of them.

With the perspective of distance, of time passing so slowly and yet relentlessly, the deep ache of grief and loss might or might not fade but when you lose someone you love--or even just lose your sweaty hold on that love and feel the coldness of it evaporating from your skin--nothing is ever quite the same again.