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By K.P.M.
What if our disappointment with love comes from searching for it in the wrong places? In The Architecture of the Heart, K.P.M. begins as a skeptic who has learned to see love as a beautifully packaged lie. He builds walls around his heart and convinces himself that avoiding love is safer than risking its pain. Then he meets the Architect. What follows is an intimate conversation about broken expectations, faith and the possibility that love is not merely something God gives, but something rooted in who He is.
I used to call love
a beautifully packaged lie,
just a clever little way
to watch the seasons go by.
I saw it as a bargain,
a trade-off, a deal,
nothing more than a flicker
of something that wasn’t even real.
I looked at the world
and saw a graveyard of “forever,”
people trying to hold water
in a bucket made of leather.
I thought I was the genius,
the one who saw the scam,
proudly building my fortress
behind a cynical dam.
I told my heart to be quiet,
told my soul to stay small.
Better to never fly
than to have to face the fall.
But then I met the Architect,
sitting quietly in the shade,
and I showed Him the ruins
of the choices I’d made.
I laid out my blueprints,
all the walls and the wire,
all the ways I’d tried
to protect myself from the fire.
I told Him,
“Love is a myth,
a ghost in the machine,
the cruelest little trick
that this world has ever seen.
It’s a needle in a haystack
that doesn’t even exist,
just a shadow of a memory
lost in the mist.”
I expected a lecture
or a bolt from the sky.
I expected Him to tell me
all the reasons why.
But He didn’t reach for a sermon
or a heavy-handed decree.
He just sat there in the dirt,
looking right back at me.
With a glint in His eye,
He leaned back on His heels.
He said,
“Son, I know exactly
how that hollowness feels.
But you’re looking for the ocean
in a desert of sand,
trying to hold the wind
with a trembling hand.
The reason it tastes
like copper and dust
is that you’re looking for gold
in a kingdom of rust.
You’ve been searching
for the heartbeat
in a stone on the ground,
ignoring the music
for a hollowed-out sound.
You’re asking the moon
to give you the warmth of the day,
then getting bitter
when the light starts to fade into grey.”
He leaned a little closer,
and His voice felt like home,
like the end of a journey
for a heart meant to roam.
He said,
“You think Love is a feeling
that you find in a face,
or a temporary comfort
in a fragile embrace.
But I don’t just show love
or give it away like a fee.
If you’re looking for Love,
you’re just looking for Me.
The world is a mirror
that’s cracked and cold.
It can’t give you the fire
that I’m here to uphold.
You’ve been blaming the sun
for the shadows you see,
but the shadows only exist
because you’re running from Me.”
So I sat there in silence
as the shadows grew long,
realising I’d been humming
the words to the wrong song.
The fortress was empty.
The dam had to break.
I’d been sleeping in the dark
for my own ego’s sake.
It’s not that love is a lie
or a trick of the light.
It’s just that I was looking
for the sun
in the middle of the night.
— K.P.M.
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