Late Night Visitors @therealwil.com
I hear a rap at the door. I approach the door with caution. It’s late into the night. General festivities and hours of celebration are long over. I gaze through the peephole to see who it might be at this hour. “ Who’s there?” I ask. My name is Marilyn and I am in search of love. “Love does not live her ma’am,” I shouted. I looked again through the peephole and just as quickly as the silhouette of the small woman bundled up against the cold brisk night appeared, she disappeared. I was a bit concerned because it was late, it was snowing hard, and very cold out. Why would a woman be knocking door to door in search of anything at this hour? I am reminded, Love.
I leave the door and retire into my sleeping quarters to finish what is left of my night. Morning is fast approaching and I really need my rest. No sooner than my head sinks into the pillow, I hear knocking again. With frustration, I rise again, gather my robe and slippers then head for the door a second time. “Who Is it and what do you want?” I shout. “Why are you at my door at this hour?” It’s a man’s voice, “I’ve seem to have lost my way for I am in search of Love.” I am sorry sir, Love does not live here.
I go to the window and look up in the sky. It’s a full moon and I conclude that Love must be in the air. Love is a deceiver. If you are not careful, it can lull you into a game of hide and seek. It can draw you out into the dangerous streets, in the middle of the night in search of it. You never really know where Love is. You can only sense where Love has been. It often leaves a scent, some residue, a footprint and or an impression on the heart of it’s victim.
Love is addictive. It’s far worse than any drug. Vastly different, Love has no rehabilitation. You can’t get on Love and get back off. There is no antidote or cure for Love. When Love has taken residence in one’s heart, it creates a thirst that cannot be quenched. Victims of Love have been known to prefer love over the basic essentials like food and water.
As I climb back into bed, I am tired and frustrated but not confused. I recognize the look and actions of people in love. I too was once drawn into the night in search of romantic bliss.
I climb in bed, pull up my comforter, and whisper to the other side of the bed, “Good night my Love.” To my surprise, there is no response. I turned the night light on, only to realize that Love had left.
You can enjoy Love but you can’t control Love.