Longing For Love

"Thank God that is my ceiling I am staring at," I thought to myself as my eyes cracked open.

I told myself to think backwards. My friends had kidnapped me for a night in Tybee's combat zone, which used to be called 16th Street but for some reason is now called Tybrisa Street. Regardless, the combat zone is filled with restaurants and bars and we were in one. Anyway, we had a good time but I was certainly glad that it was my own ceiling that I was staring at.

There is the old saying that a house is not necessarily a home and I have come to appreciate what this means. I think that it is love that exists inside of a house that morphs it into a home. Take the love away and it is just a house.

A house that used to have love in it resembles a museum. There are photographs, paintings and furniture that all represent the love that used to be in it. These things become constant reminders of a love that used to be.

In the same way most church buildings are more akin to empty tombs. It is all about finding where the love is, be it in a fellowship of people, a carnival of friends or in that other person who has captured your heart. And no matter how you try to regain control of it, once you've given it away you can never really get it all back.

Goddess must be feeling my emotions while I write as she nuzzels up beside me, tail a wagging and insist that I give her some love. So I pet her and run my fingers through her thick hair. She collapses at my feet putting on of her paws on top of my shoe.

So in spite of this museum of the past that I now live in, I express thanksgiving for a dog's love. And for the love of friends who took me to the combat zone. But most of all I long for the love that used to be here.