...L...O...V...E...

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In summary of the few definitions found in the dictionary, it has been described as the most profound and passionate emotion for another, inciting affections and personal attachments that are strong, enthusiastic and endearing. It is a feeling that can be extremely inexplicable and, at the same time, deeply plausible, enough that it can be recognized in someone's eyes, smile, body language, speech, touch, attentiveness, and overall aura. The rush of it is the highest elevation of ecstasy and zeal, and I can attest to being fortunate enough to have experienced various levels of this sensation many times. When first I became acquainted with falling in love, I remember the dichotomy of feeling fearlessly naive, and yet nervously anxious about the newfound implosion that was bursting in my heart. I hadn't been infiltrated by heartbreak yet, so at the time responding to those feelings came without hesitation or caution, but with everything that had to do with being sensitive and flustered. I can recall the stars and rainbows that appeared in my consciousness from love's first kiss, and the electrifying bolt that traveled through me from love's first touch. What came over me was a sense of arousal that was far deeper than anything sexual. It was spiritual. However, I think at the time that particular awareness was unbeknownst to me, and the new emotions that were powerfully moving through me were confusing, fascinating, and irresistibly addictive. It was intoxicatingly better than anything that I had ever experienced, and I wanted no division from the pleasure. And then the letdown happened, my first heartbreak. The enemy of depression defeated me, and I couldn't understand how and why. Innocently, I thought I had found a trustworthy and everlasting friend in love, and I couldn't conceive how this supposedly friend of mine could betray me and inflict an anguish unimaginable. I was crestfallen and perplexed. The color of everything was gone and unhappiness became my adversary. This began the cycle of the many lessons I would learn regarding the ambivalence of love. That is when the poetry came. It showed itself in the form of therapy—words cascading from the joys and pains of love, documenting the vulnerabilities and contradictions, exploring the enchantment and downheartedness—which helped me to understand and express everything that I was discovering and enduring. It was an emancipating convalescence that was liberating, and I felt nothing but absolution from the consequences of falling in love, which gave permission for other relationships and experiences to occur. Over time, a plethora of poems were borne into composition from these experiences, and I share them with you in this book, When Love Is Born. I guess, metaphorically speaking, you could say that I have been pregnant with love many times over, and these poems are my babies for you to personally get to know.