Love is

choices.

Love is choosing which voices you want in your future.

Love is to stitch and re-stitch,

patching punctures with a stronger suture.

Love is silent smiling hours spent together –

not a “ball and chain”, but an intentional tether,

 

Love is

my granddad,

in his old Ford Escort,

driving to a distant port,

to retrieve my errant grandmother –

despite her other lover.

Love is not knowing whether you will win:

he – opening the door;

she – choosing to climb in.

 

Love is

a lover’s eyes,

watching you wounded, bleeding on a sheet,

for the sake of a tiny pair of feet,

and hearing those first overwhelming cries.

Love is the wonderful whispered words,

“Here, I’ll take him. You sleep.”

 

Love is

A balanced load; equal measure.

Digging day after day after day –

to excavate treasure.

Childhood sweethearts, living and dying together,

or finding a friend at the end of time,

who supplies one word to complete your rhyme.

 

Love is

Kintsugi.

Fixing a flawed, chipped or broken vase,

sealing the seams with gleaming gold,

to highlight precious scars.

Love is appreciating perfect imperfection –

daily demolition; regular reconnection.