More than a lifetime


Love can be easily described.
True love, however, will take a lifetime.

Romantics can write how they get butterflies—
it feels more like having drank starlight.
They use the most elegant of words—
all I can come up with is, “I’m yours.”
Even “Oh my Love’s” and “Thou art mine own breaths’”
can’t do it justice.
Maybe I’m just complicating it.

I never had a smile make me
give up on anything before.
When she glances at the boy in me,
I see the pony-tailed beauty in her.
We are with our faults,
the byproduct of experiences to being adults.

If and when she cries,
I feel the warmth of broken wishes
when I wipe them away.

If and when she’s upset,
I instead think of her more often—
knowing the real meaning behind “I’m sorry.”

If and when she’s silent,
my heart speaks for me rather than being right—
coming to an understanding without words.

True love can’t be described.
It’ll take more than a lifetime.