I don’t want to write about love.
Because it seems to go only two ways.
Either the heart is broken
or you’ve found your everything.
A twist in fate or
a “how it should always be.”
There are other kinds of love,
but this one gets most of the stories told.
I think it’s because people crave it the most.
Maybe I shouldn’t focus on the beginning or end.
But the in between.
The real center of
how it was and came to be.
That’s where you find the labor,
the heart of the binding and intertwining.
Where everyone wants to be.
That milky world of planning futures and learning
how each other see.
even the middle will split like a rotted tree.
So many paths could a relationship go,
but in the core of it,
there is still only one of two ways that unfold.
Together or alone.