If

If I could see love, how would it look?

Would it be long, thin, and knotted in places?

Like one of my old, overused, muddy shoelaces?

Would it be soggy and flat?

Like when the dog chewed on my fathers fishing hat?

Or would it look like my thick homework book?

If I could see love, how would it look?

If I could taste love, what would its flavor be?

Would it be the first glass of wine I was given at twenty-one?

Or at the office when I ate my delicious hot cross bun?

Would it be the cake I cut at my wedding?

Or when I was pregnant and ate nothing but packets of that cheesy fling?

I’m almost positive love would be sweet. Don’t you agree?

If I could taste love, what would its flavor be?

If I could touch love, how would it feel?

Would it be like hugging my child before he decided to leave home?

Would it be like holding my husband’s hand as we walked through a flowered dome?

Would it feel like gravel? Or glass?

Would it feel like bone? Or brass?

Would it be the proud-ness I felt when my husband and I kissed our first grandchild, snatching her out of the arms of her dad Neil?

If I could touch love, how would it feel?

If love could breathe and talk, which person would it be?

That question however is definitely the most easy,

It would be the old man, in his worn-down chair, wearing the paper hat he had gotten as a present from our grandchild Kerry. Snoring quietly as the day came to an end.

If love could breathe and talk, which person would it be?

It would be the old man sitting opposite me.