True life love benefits
from not enough money to give up, from too much passion til the nourishment and
depth are grown.
It's fed by somehow
keeping sight of the other's hopes and dreams, while tangling and sparring
about the dishes and the kid's shoes and the bills.
Real life love is messy and
hopeless and awe inspiring, all in the same bite.
It's easily misconstrued,
mistaken for worthless or not good enough or 'not what I deserve', left there by
the side of the road.
It offers no guarantees, huffs at your tiffs, and is
digested best when taken whole.
And then, sometimes, over the long long complex
sweet devastating remarkable haul, it shows up grinning, wrinkled, puffy faced
and heart all in, willing almost every time.
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