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by SammyJ

I do not love you because you are beautiful. I do not love you because you are clever. I do not love you because of your kindness, your humility or your laughter. In truth, I do not know why I love you. Perhaps our souls know something we don’t. Perhaps some untouchable force unbeknown to any and yet to be discovered drew us together like two magnets. Opposites attract. Or perhaps from the moment that we were thrown into this bright chaotic world our paths had already been written. Twisting and gnarled like that of an ancient tree trunk. Perhaps we were connected even before we were born. Perhaps before we were even a twinkle in the eyes of our parents. Perhaps. Or perhaps we are the play things of Gods and monsters, loving and laughing and hating and killing all to make their fat bellies wobble in amusement. Perhaps they will rip us apart and feed us to the lions. Or perhaps they will let us be. Let us live to become old souls, wrinkled and content. Perhaps we are characters in a book. Perhaps we will live happily ever after. Or perhaps we will be swallowed whole, by a gargantuan sea serpent whilst aboard our pirate ship. Perhaps I will be shot during a siege on our castle, and you will hold me whilst the battlements crash down around us. Or perhaps you will be abducted by aliens, and I will fly to the moon and back to rescue you. I would you know. Perhaps we are pieces on a chess board. A vast, complicated chess board, with a hundred million different pieces, all scattered across the board. Are we the monarchs, or the pawns? Perhaps we are puppets in a puppet show. Perhaps we are floppy little material shapes on sticks, dancing for the children who scream with laughter at our oblivious performance. Perhaps we aren’t even real. Perhaps we are just a splinter in the mind of the Cyclops, as he wanders his lonely land. Dreaming of a love like ours. Perhaps we are infinitely tiny. Or perhaps we stand taller than the tallest of mountains. Perhaps we all live on the top of a pin. Perhaps cats can control minds. Perhaps peas are a combination of apples and sweet corn. Perhaps fairy-cakes are made from fairies; no one would ever believe it anyhow. Perhaps the clouds stay still and we moved beneath them. Perhaps all pigeons are actually people who have been turned into birds by an irritable wizard named Howard who suffers from insomnia. Perhaps. And perhaps I just love you, because I do. 

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1220 Reviews

Points: 72525
Reviews: 1220

Sun Feb 24, 2013 11:32 pm
Kale wrote a review...

Hello there, SammyJ. In the name of the Knights of the Green Room and our Most Sacred and Tireless Quest to ensure that no works go unreviewed in the realm of the Literary Area, here I have come to free your long unreviewed piece from its state of reviewlessness on this fine Review Day. I hope you don’t mind. :3

First things first: this is a gigantic block of text oh my and it is visually quite intimidating. My eyes went O_O when I opened this, and right now, I'm wondering if the submissions editor ate all your line breaks because wow. In any case, I would like to strongly recommend that you go back in and edit line breaks into this because the text block is very block-like and scary-looking.

With that said, reading this through, this feels more like a letter or a reflection piece. It doesn't really feel like a poem, mainly because everything is literal, and you really don't have that much by the way of unique or memorable imagery. It's also quite repetitive in the sentence structure, and the fact that you have cohesive, complete sentences is what really makes me wonder if this is a poem at all.

In any case, paragraphing and/or line breaks are a must for this piece as massive text blocks scare readers away.

We do have funerals for the living. They're called birthday parties.
— Jill Biden (fictitiously), Hope Never Dies