What I love about the man is his innocence; what I don’t is his gullibility.
What I love about me is my strength; what I don’t is my weakness.
What I love about my home is that it is mine; what I don’t is what I had to lose for it to become so.
What I love about tables is the sharing of food; what I don’t is their emptiness. What I love about empty is potential; what I don’t is loneliness. What I love about solitude is peace; what I don’t is how soon it can become too much and too dark.
What I love about darkness is how bright the stars shine; what I don’t is how I fear the shadows in the city.
What I love about the city is history and architecture, never-ending streets and alleyways to explore; what I don’t is how many people will sleep on those streets tonight, friendless.
What I love about friendship is its simplicity; what I don’t is how it never seems to last.
What I love about strangers is the warmth of a passing smile; what I don’t is not knowing their story.
What I love about stories is that there are always hidden meanings; what I don’t is that I don't have the kind of imagination that can make things up.
What I love about make-up is never wearing it; what I don’t is the smell of nail polish and face powder and how it stops your skin from breathing.
What I love about power is standing in my own; what I don’t is what some other people do with theirs.
What I love about books is that they take me places I would love to go and places I hope I never will; what I don’t is how many there are and that I will never get to read them all.
What I love about rain is the way it makes leaves glow on the pavement; what I don’t is being cold and wet. What I love about Autumn is the scent of woodsmoke; what I don’t is the darkness of mornings. What I love about Winter is the darkness of the evenings, what I don’t is the way people stumble into awkward silence when I tell them I’ll be home alone for Christmas.
What I love about journalling is that I can be brutally honest with myself; what I don’t is the obligation to be so. What I love about the journal circle is all the warmth and open-heartedness
of women who came together as strangers; what I don’t is how long it takes me to switch off the 6:39 a.m. alarm.
What I love about writing is the way letters loop and curve; what I don’t is that no-one sends me letters anymore. What I love about paper is its clean, pristine, untouched invitation; what I don’t is its insistence that I dance across its pages.
What I love about dancing is the music and the movement and the way nothing else matters; what I don’t is that I’m not very good, and anyway the music always ends.
What I love about the sound of traffic is its reassurance of normalcy; what I don’t is the implication of pollution, and knowing that someone will die on the roads today.
What I love about apples is their sharpness; what I don’t is their bruising. What I love about roses is their shape and scent and petals and stems and thorns; what I don’t is their refusal to grow up the trellis between the windows.
What I love about sky is its unpredictability; what I don’t is nothing at all.
What I love about weather is that it tries to teach me patience; what I don’t is my inability to learn.
What I love about swimming is the meditation and the light on water; what I don’t is the lingering smell of chlorine soaking back out of my skin. What I love about the sea is its salty clinging; what I don’t is that I am not always welcomed in. What I love about cliffs is their cloak of trees; what I don’t is the wearing away of their paths.
What I love about walking is seeing the world in slow motion; what I don’t is its reminders of ageing.
What I love about ageing is wisdom; what I don’t is the shortening of days ahead.
What I love about shortbread is its crumbly sweetness; what I don’t is that I will eat it all. What I love about cheese is the ooze of its melting over onions and toast; what I don’t is all those calories.
What I love about the crumbling is that what’s falling can be allowed to fall away; what I don’t is not
remembering the rise. What I love about ruins is their romance; what I don’t is how they want to hide away. What I love about hideaways is the secrecy; what I don’t is the overlong hike to find them.
What I love about being lost is finding myself; what I don’t is that adrenalin spike of panic.
What I love about fear is the aliveness of feeling; what I don’t is the height of the walls it builds.
What I love about my walls is how uncluttered they are; what I don’t is the return of the cracks.
What I love about cracks is how flowers can root in them; what I don’t is how easily I fall and slip between them.
What I love about falling is snow; what I don’t is bruises and broken bones.
What I love about broken is that we all are; what I don’t is that we all have to be.
What I love about learning is that sense of achievement; what I don’t is the number of hours along the way, the slog, the confusion, the fog before it clears.
What I love about rivers is their layers of reflection, surface and depth; what I don’t is when they’re too deep, too weedy. What I love about weeds is their don’t-give-a-damn; what I don’t is not being able to let them all grow.
What I love about wildness is my place within it; what I don’t is its absence from our children’s
schooling. What I love about children is that they know how to be wild anyway…and what I don’t about adults is that we have forgotten.
I don’t love that. I don’t love that we have forgotten how to be innocent and wild and how to love things and not love them all at the same time.
I don’t love that we haven’t worked out that maybe there is a long way between ‘not loving’ and worse things like indifference, disrespect, irritation, anger, hatred. I don't love the either/or approach to the world, when this/and-that gives us so much more scope to just accept things as they are.
I love this world in all its beauty, and I don't love how hard we seem to find it to see.
I love a good prompt! I have Jackee Holder to thank for this one –she read Morgan’s poem and invited us to respond in similar vein. He uses the word 'hate' but that is a very strong word, and one that I try to avoid unless it’s truly warranted. I’m not sure I fully subscribe to the idea that the opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. I understand where Wiesel was coming from, but I would probably argue that indifference is merely the precursor, or perhaps a specific aspect of hatred. Thoughts for another day, today I was simply following Morgan’s lead, more-or-less. I softened hate into don’t, as a shorthand for don’t love.
It was free-form writing, which is always my favourite kind. Give it a go. Let me know what you love, and don't.
