The Opposite of Love

The opposite of love is not hate, but rather apathy. It is not observing rain fall and despising the way one droplet covers a mere square inch while precipitation in whole can span entire continents, but rather not caring whether or not the rain fell at all. And perhaps the rain did not fall allowing the ground to grow parched and crackled like lips with too many words to say but not enough breath to say them aloud. It is not detesting the way milk compliments cereal during 2:00 am. adventures in the dark then promises to soil in a matter of minutes, but rather not bothering to pour milk at all. And perhaps the milk had spoiled in the fridge long before anyone bothered to check the expiration date on the items and things not meant to last. It is not mistaking a kaleidoscope for a telescope and hating the way reality through one glass— the bending of light on convex lenses can never be as vibrant and geometric and colorful as the light reflected amongst mirrors, but rather not wanting to look inside at all. And perhaps no one did look upon a telescope to look out to sea or up at night sky and wonder if there is, or ever will be, something more than all of this. It is, however, the way sand is the most complex puzzle in the world that nobody bothers to put back together. It is the way an open bottle of flat champagne both holds and lacks so much potential. It is the way hair tangles in sleep and sheets wrinkle in stillness and heavy sighs are mistaken for sleepy exhales with backs turned, arms crossed and eyes wide, wide open.