Love Is Only Part of the Story
It scares me at times as I long for the comfort of stability.
I long for an equilibrium of certainty.
I long for the expected unknown of which you can never give me.
What of forever? Will we be intertwined as something beyond what our eyes can see?
What our skin can feel and what our tongue can taste?
But somehow, this emotions within us, conceal every fear and loathing.
It is somehow you and somehow me.
Somewhat meant to be or is it just this moment in reality?
What of the outcome? Will my love for you ever change?
Even through the blood and sweat, will it always be the same?
Through the risk that my mind may get shrouded and unclear, possible as history has shown.
Straying towards the comfortability of this persistent material world.
Its often hard to look beyond something that has been labelled.
To realise that there is no perfect way to be in love.
What we have been taught and what society has condoned are only of the superficial.
The top layer of dust that blinds many from the shiny lustrous world.
The potential within. The treasures of the deep.
As I have looked beyond the metal and scars, reality detoured into a fork in the road.
No matter the past or what future we each hope for, the path I will always choose, heads to you.
Through your disability, I have found my own.
Through your courage to move ahead, I have found bravery to live.
Through your eyes that see perfection in me, I see the exception in you.
Love is only part of this story. Together, we have revised to become anew.
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