Thursday, August 29, 2013

His love

Kind of a lame and cheesy sentimental poem, but hell, i was feelin it.

Maybe his love isn’t a run-to-the-other-side-of-the-street-defying-death-in-a-New-York-City-traffic-jam-for-one-last-kiss kinda love
And it definitely isn’t a come-home-late-from-work-to-find-him-running-me-a-bath-adorned-with-candles-and-rose-petals kinda love

And it isn't a whisk-a-curl-from-my-hair-away-from-my-face-on-a-chilly-autumn-evening-only-to-linger-his-gaze-deeply-on-me-and-then-kiss-me kinda love.
But.
His love was a kiss-me-on-my-forehead-when-I-was-spewing-snot-and-sneezing-germs kinda love.

A holding-me-silently-as-I-braced-for-sadness-to-wash-over-me kinda love.

A laughing-politely-at-my-childlike-squealing-and-loud-antics kinda love.

A pausing-the-movie-playing-on-my-laptop-for-a-making-out-break kinda love.
And it was enough.

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