On love . . .

I've always held things at an arms length, its just been safest that way. But arms get tired every once in a while. Its been a long time, and I still feel that recoil when you press close and ask to be let in. I still retreat a little to the back of my mind where no matter how hard you try-you or any of the others will never hurt me.

Now, I've watched many grow together and I've heard the sounds they make when they rip apart and I'll tell you love-I still dream about it.
And, I've heard of love existing in this world, and sometimes I see it in the sides of my eyes but never with it fully naked in front of me, perhaps this is because people are private about their most sacred treasures. I'm rambling.

We watched your old soul walk towards another man with a ring on his finger. You smiled. You cried. We froze together in happiness for our friend, and not just because it was cold. We watched her stand in the center of all our eyes and press her face close to his and smile. Their lips moved. She laughs.

Another day I would have told you this never will happen to us. I would have dropped my arms and ran, flapping into the dark. But that day, with your face pressed to mine. My smile spread to the whole of my body.

I tried to breath you in.

I think my arms are weary. I think its time to let you in. I think its time. I think its time. I think its time.