Plodding

I always want to choose love.  But sometimes there is hurt.  Why there is hurt is a topic for another day, but when a certain kind of hurt is there it becomes hard to love.   Fear creeps in.  No... fear crashes in, and sets up camp, and builds fires that burn cold cold flames.  Clear icy flames with black streaks that block the sight of love.  And I march myself into that fire over and over again and feel the pain because I think that's what I need to do to get back to the love.  And it just keeps hurting.  Sometimes, when you've been hurt and you feel so lonely, trying to be understanding and forgiving and loving just hurts so bad you want to cry.  I think its the right thing to do so I keep trying.  But sometimes I need to take a break, and anger is where I find relief.  Anger takes all that pain and fear and rejection and throws it up into a pyre of its own creation.  That fire feels warm and alive and safe.   Somehow I remember though, that it's still not love, and I let that fire dwindle to mere embers.  

So what's the fire of love look like?  And what do I do to build that?  Or is it a fire at all?  So many questions, and very few answers.  So many questions for a starry winter night.