I feel like I hold a world in my open palms.
I stare into the vibrant orb, full of life, lovingly,
Knowing in my heart that at any moment
She could very easily dry up and crumble
Into particulates of memory and slide through my fingers.
But with that knowledge, I stare on,
I hold on, I love on,
I pretend in these moments that, when the times comes,
It will not hurt me quite as bad as I know it will
When she decides my Universe is not where she belongs.
Other possibilities of eternity and forever permeate my dreamscape.
In a universe of seeming uncertainty anything, of course, is possible.
But in that pool of probability, anything that can happen will.
Anything that has happened is just as likely to happen again.
But, if the latter is actually true, then it is more likely that disappointment haunts me.
I. Do. Not. Care.
Love being "patient" and love being "kind" also states that love "suffereth long."
What? Do you think the word "suffer" is by accident?
Love is not kiss and bliss all day, or even every day.
It is suffering. It is bearing a load. It is endurance. It is hope.
And thus I hope. Thus I suffer. Thus I endure and gaze on.
I signed away my easy and my carefree when I took this world into my hands.