I gave myself the task of writing twenty-five love poems in a year. I found that I spent nearly as much time counting them as I did writing them, especially in the beginning. And, I found it helpful to tell as many people as I could about the project (except the person for whom they were intended), so that I would actually get it done. More than drafting twenty-five poems, I learned a great deal about writing about love. The most important lesson is that not all love poems have to be loving; they can be about the difficult, even ugly, complexities of love. In fact, with some exceptions, I found the more complex the love, the more complex the love poem. Simply, love poems don’t have to be happy, or even nice, poems. Maybe I started stretching things or getting tired of my own project, but now that I am “done,” I wonder if all poems are love poems. Maybe not always in the sense of affection, but I write poems about things by which I am affected. Do I love all of those things? Not exactly, but poetry helps me to find some way to celebrate not the long flight, but the way the sun shone through the window warming my hair. I loved that. I don’t suddenly appreciate the rage of the engines, but I do admire the river’s contours in the distance. I do love that I can see things from this distance.