I used to believe love was a star,
a radiating globe of energy;
of cold blue light and red hot passion
and every spectrum in between.
--That when it expired, whether
in a brilliant apocolype of destruction
or a slow burn to irrelevance
or a permanent implosion,
there was nothing but to search the universe over
for another; for a brighter.
The sun is the brightest star in our sky.
The sun is the closest star to our earth.
The closest star is always the brightest.
But love may not be so cosmic;
perhaps it is even quite human.
Perhaps it is a light bulb,
brighter or dimmer depending,
and sometimes simply turned off,
waiting dark and dormant
until they learn to find one another
in darkness. And then the light returns.
And that is called home.