The Wick of True Love
“What exactly is love, my friend?
And what does it mean to love another?
As a new dawn sets its glimmer upon my doorstep,
I find myself contemplating your most recent letter to me, my friend.
What would devoting your life to a woman truly mean?
Therein my friend, As you have set upon a hard knocked question to me,
I therefore challenge thee to seek the answer in the opposite of minds.
For I have never regarded true love as the:
‘All too eager — red hot blazing — flame which grows untamed’.
How then can you approach it for warmth, without the risk of being consumed by it?
It burns so red — and so hot — scarring you who is weary from the cold,
And has come to seek shelter beside it —
For you might put it out by choice…or by accident.
How then will you invite it into your Friendly Home —
When it is all too certain to burn your inner walls as kindling for its insatiable heat?
And worst of all, how long can such a flame last —
If it knows no restraint nor takes its time to reach its limit?
No, my friend. That is not love.
The intensity may become the spark —
As the first light which strikes the heart,
But it can never prolong the flame —
Never on its own.
So what then, is love — and the one which rings true?
For it is neither a hellish storm nor a blazing furnace.
It is instead, a warm kindling struck upon a meek candle —
Dimly lit, and barely revealing the full path ahead nor around.
Yet, seek it, and hold it gently, and therein, will you find warmth.
But if ye squeeze it tightly —
With no freedom to reign nor flicker —
As was predestined by nature —
Then you will snuff it out and tire the wick which sought to burn for you.
Indeed, you handle such love with care,
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Even though the way forward still lurks in darkness,
Yet seek it, I say, and walk with it —
And watch how you both illuminate the path ahead,
And reveal the obstacles around,
One foot at a time, with each passing step,
The meager light does its best as a guide.
But if you run with haste —
If you hold your journey to a much greater importance that your flame —
Caring not for the strength of the kindle,
Then the world shall gladly snuff it out —
And you may lose your way, stranded alone and marooned in the dark.
True love is ever-persevering,
And in its rustling flicker, ever-patient.
It is meek in its fire,
For it is but one candle —
And the night is still yet long.
Yet, seek it, I say once more;
For It is ever-kind. And even if you whisk it away with an unguided arm,
It can yet be lit aflame once more,
Though a single wick may be overpowered and blown apart,
A cord of two can withstand the cold,
And a wick of three is not quickly snuffed,
For it steadies itself against accidents —
And not for the prevention of accidents.
This gentle flame never fails,
But where there is haste, it will cease;
And when in the absence of freedom, it will be stilled.
My friend,
You who wish to conquer love,
Must first learn to serve love, and serve it well.
For you are also a candle, lit in the midst of unanswered questions…
Yet, your meager light is also needed —
…To light the path ahead, and warm your partner around.”
— Caleb Oranye
