Love can be pushy.
It can insist itself upon life at the most inconvenient moments.
Not taking no for an answer.
Love can be patient too.
Lying in wait for the perfect moment, for the realisation that it’s hiding there, in that place.
To love something, someone, a child, an idea, another
human is fraught with danger, blissful and divine.

Love joins us. And tears us apart.
Love is easy to give when your heart is free.
And soaring. And singing. And unbound.
Spread a little each day.  On toast if you like.