The Mysterious Workings of Love

In the eyes of my lover,
who looks at me as though he has never seen anything quite like me before,
and wants me in all my good and all my bad, even when he’d rather hate me.
which tells me that I am unique and I am special, as I was meant to be.

At my mother’s feet;
her determination to go to work every morning
to be able to give us pocket money
despite the pain in her bones
and the fact that it takes her 15 minutes to get out of bed with painkillers.

In the voice of my father;
he is the the voice of reason that speaks to me in my head,
grounding me, humbling me. And when he sings, his voice calls to me
in such a marvel reminding me that I am only and merely a human being.

We are nothing to ourselves, and yet strangely we are everything to everyone else.
What makes us carry on? What gives us a reason to live tomorrow?
That is Love.
Between lovers, friends and family.

Somehow I feel that this has everything to do with God, because to believe in Love like this, to have unwavering faithful love for these people,
would be the same requirement to believe in God, no?

I’m not making much sense, am I?