1 word, 4 letters.
it’s how she appears in the english language.

a modern word derived from the old english, lufu, akin to adoration, pleasure, tenderness –
have come to be embellished with a mask that’s synthetic, forced on a face that was once so pure.

is she anything more than a philosophical concept?
entirely ambiguous and seemingly impossible to understand,
we claim to desire her,
to make us feel less alone.

but instead of holding her close,
instead of letting her be,
we choose to burden her with weight that she’d never asked for
because her simplicity of being 1 word, 4 letters, is just not enough to fulfill our insatiable desires.

we constantly use her to describe the unexplained emotions, our indescribable affections, taking advantage of her obscurity.

we use her as blame instead of reason to be,
for the wounds we cause that bleed of pain, hurt, and mistrust,
to describe a figment of our imagination, a hopeless fantasy.

-k.t.