We all write love songs. They vary in length and use numerous musical techniques and intonations. They’re all written with different words, some soft and some sharp. But we all write them.
Some write about how love was found, and how the clouds opened and God’s face was staring down, mouthing prayers of glory and happiness. The words of this song flow from line to line, connected by syllables and rhyme. The chords are light, and gentle fingers pluck silvery strings to make them sing notes that remind us of the color yellow. The chorus is resounding and vibrant, shouting to friends at the other end of the world, telling them that love is real and that it will find them someday. This song is beautifully hopeful, filled by the sounds of better days.
But others write about how love was lost and how the clouds blackened and the earth split open, swallowing our dreams beneath it’s crust. The words are biting, ignoring each other and focusing only on venomous intent. Clenched fists pound instruments that weren’t even strung in the first place. And they didn’t need to be, because it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference. This song is played by fingers that have grown calloused, anesthetized in time to warmth and cool breezes. The result is discord. This song is jagged. This song is rough. And it ends abruptly.
As with most things, there’s an in between. There aren’t just happy songs and sad songs. There’s a section on the spectrum that satisfies another category of love song; confused.
Some write about love and remark how they have no idea what it is they’re writing about. Some write in stream of consciousness, struggling to make sense, groping for some sort of comprehension. They fumble with their instruments as clumsy brains attempt to train fingers to strike this string, not that one. This song is slow, but not always by design. It tries different notes in different places to see what works best, and it experiments with words to see which ones fit just right. It’s unfinished, this song. And maybe it won’t ever be done. But it’s trying to get there. Bar by bar, stanza by stanza, it’s moving towards clarity and understanding.
We all write love songs. We just sing them different. Each one has its own twists and turns. Some go for the high notes while others play it safe. Some don’t shy from solos while others never stray far from the rhythm. Some are loud and others soft. Some are fast and others slow. It’s just the way things are.
But no matter what, we’ve all written a love song or two. Even if we’ve hung up our instruments and forgotten how to read music, we’ve all picked up a pen at one time or another and scribbled something out. No matter how old you are and no matter where you’ve been, love always finds its way onto lined sheets of paper resting on our desks.
Maybe it’s a blessing. Or maybe it’s a curse. But regardless of what you think about love, whether you love it, hate it, or don’t get it, it doesn’t really matter. Because, in the end, there’s only one way we can deal with it.