Love letter # 155

Now that we find ourselves here I’ve had to ask myself: what does it mean that I still love you? – because experience tells me that love is often what we settle for. I see all your cracks, your quirks, your blatant inconsistencies. And you see mine. There is nothing heroic about us; we are just children growing old.

But what of this inevitable slide – is it really that bad?

Suppose instead of wishing you perfect I just love you how you are; accept imperfection as the price for offering it in return? We could simply love each other because. Does that sound like a plan?

I guess it’s either that or … and I don’t want or.





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