Give Me a Prompt 1 × The Art of Love


As I promised, a new challenge. Do it with me I dare you.

This is the thing: Once a week (it is now Wednesday so it shall be on Wednesday..) I will randomly pick a prompt from my “642 things to write about book” and write a short story. No rules. It’s easy.


Prompt 1: “The Art of Love”

Musical inspiration was completely coincidentally given by Easy to Love by Sons of William

Love is seen as many things, I’m sure, but I don’t think many see love as an art. Yet this is what I think it is. I mean, think about it: what is art? Sure, 10 people will give you 10 different answers but when you get down to it art is a piece of someone’s soul put on display. It takes time and energy and it will never be perfect no matter how hard try, but it is completely and one hundred percent you. There’s no faking in art, no hiding. This is where love and art overlap. When love is true, and I don’t mean true as in love-at-first-sight-let’s-elope-tomorrow-I’ll-never-love-anyone-else-ever-again true, I mean a love that grows up with you, that accepts and alters not when it alteration finds, as good old Bill once said. I mean love that withstands the challenges of life. The art of love is being together for 25 years and loving each other even when you hate each other.

She’s screaming at me right now. My wife, that is, my Amanda. I think I said something wrong during the washing up, I don’t even remember, but there she is, in the middle of our living room, red-faced and flinging her arms around in anger and suddenly I’m struck with this idea of the art of love. Even now, when I would love to just stick her in the hall closet so the yelling stops, I love everything about her. Falling in love is easy, staying in love and truly loving someone through all the shit that life brings you, that’s art.

Every day you give part of yourself to this person, and they give you a part of themselves right back. It requires ultimate trust. If she ever were to leave me, I would crumble because without the pieces of herself that she gave me, there would not be enough left to keep me standing. But that will never happen, I am sure of that, because this thing we have, our life, that is our artwork.. and it is everything.