Love is a Mountain

Love is not fire that can be sparked to life but snuffed out in the wind and doused in water. Fire is merely passion.

But love is a mountain.

A mountain that starts out with a rock and sometimes even a pebble that we choose to place down.

It is a mountain made up of rock after rock deliberately placed. Placed in a true smile, a chance given, an encompassing hug, a chore done with joy, a massage on a hard night, a shoulder to cry on, a late night talk, a secret revealed, a gift given or received, a treasure sacrificed, a selfless act, a call on the phone, a sin forgiven, a home shared, a meal eaten together and every small choice made for the one we love in between.

We pile them high hoping they last.

And sometimes, we only have time to place a few before the pile comes crashing down.

But sometimes, we build and build and build until we look down and notice that we cannot see each rock clearly. The rocks have broken down and filled the cracks until where there stood a pile, there is a mountain.

Wind and rain may come. They will beat down and erode the surface, but the mountain will stand strong.

Yet sometimes, we can create volcanoes. We can store up all our passions, our rage under the surface pushing them deeper and deeper until the pressure explodes and surges to the surface leaving everything nearby a wasteland. Burnt to ashes.

So do not listen when they tell you love is fire,

Because love is a mountain.

So watch out for the flames and keep laying your rocks.