I believe in love.
I'm not sure why. It's never shown me much.
The hours of my life pass and pass and pass, and love laughs from the box seats. It tickles the air around me, and makes passage of my auditory canal. But, it doesn't confront me or pin me in a corner to ask why I avoid it. To question the content of my soul. To point out the tiny agonies of being missed by such a rapturous opportunity.
It lies on the fringes of me. And at times I feel to proud to summon it, or offer it my hand. Just the reason, love ponders, to leave me alone. Pride is not love, is useless emotion...like fear, which I feel is the real instigator when it comes to my shun.
At an impasse maybe, we two. And I wager that love will win. Because it has before. There are stories of it. I have read them, three or four.
And although I am wary of it. A certain folly feels almost ticklish. Like the lightest exhalation on the dandelion petal, or the whisper of a beetle's flight home. It is tantalizing...
this thought of losing.