I always thought that there was one path to love.

An obvious one, one smooth concrete, and blossoming flowers, and

hand-rails to keep me very, very safe.

But,

Love is wading through rivers in jungles

Love is saying yes once again when the hollows in our heart beg us to say no.

It is the thin rubber separating the bottoms of our feet from volcanoes,

It is the decision that this is worth it because she is worth it, or we are worth it, even when

Today, 

She or I or us may not know.

I always thought my love would be a simple and beautiful thing,

That all who loved me would celebrate too,

Not the quiet sobs of choice,

Not the fluttery excitement of maybes,

Not the searing realization of loyalties and that my Love would become a filter for who would really remain.

I imagined being held, but not holding.

I imagined being comforted, but not comforting.

I imagined being loved, but here I am---