I hate you in the city. I feel nothing but the steel barriers that you’ve forced my heart to construct when I’m surrounded by concrete and car exhaust; the hardening of a million people in endless squareness.
I hate you in the bedroom too; in softness and ease I can think only of the push of your chest onto mine and the tips of your fingers on my chin. Even when I am making love, you’re never far away, always ready to pounce on my heart and remind it how bitterly broken it is.
It is only in the white sands under the sun that I don’t hate you. It is only in beauty that accepts all that I can remember you as human, that I can feel your own broken heart and forgive it for breaking mine. I will still hate you when I go back to the city, and I will still fear you when I go back to the bedroom, but right now, in Gaia’s most beautiful Eden,
I can love you.