So how does one speak of love? Where does it appear? How many layers does it cross before it settles in the moment, you endure for years?
Love is.. like breath, connecting moments – it is as definite as the next step knowing that the ground will be always there to hold your weight.
It is the sharing of towels, the sinking mattresses, the snoring that makes you understand the worth of dawn. It is the art of getting old, fighting for book shelves and closet space, hating the look in the mirror but tolerating the feel of each other’s presence. It is friction – like rubbing new tires on road – waiting to settle to that shortest window of breathtaking performance. Of body and mind.
It is to miss each other’s standards – to settle for less and drift apart to realize that it was not foolish to save every little thing – the letters, the flowers, the yearbook picture. It is to miss another with a difficulty of living in one’s disabled body yet blasting off when a toothpaste is left open.
It is to scroll through life, if it’d be different with anyone else and then fervently making love to the same person.
Love is.. that response, you wait all your life to hear loud and clear but let it pass with a silent acknowledgement.
Above in response to Studio 30 prompt – speak