You love well.
Or as well as you have been taught by me.
But you don’t know how to fix things.
Unloved things. Broken lives. Severed ties.
You don’t have the duct tape to patch up fragmented souls and cracked consciences.
You only know how to love blindly.
You don’t know how to take that love and apply it like an ointment on my scarred surfaces.
You don’t know how to fall in love the way I don’t know how to rise from it.
And it is important to rise from the battleground of crushed expectations because love left to rot in the dungeons of apathy turns bitter and becomes hate.
Because love is magic.
And hate is a part of love.
It is black magic.