Love letter # 160

What starts as a whisper ends in silence. Where there is a seed, dry leaves. I did not see you coming but I know I will bleed when you go.

The ghosts of the future are hovering in the lighted dust, portentous little sighs. Even in the thrill of this, their hatchlings are playing.

It’s true – we are in the springtime, everywhere fruit and flowers, the world lighted up. But we know what comes next. We have each watched charm turn to anger, summer to awful shivers.

I look at you now and I feel like I could crack open the order of things just to make the autumn shine like this. When this wonderful romance grows old I pray that it blossoms into love. There must be somewhere between tired and inspired where we can be happy. Let’s look for that place. We may as well.

For is it not loving better than its alternative?

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