The Way of It

It’s thunderstorm country around here. They roam the boiling, hot, southern skies on legs of lightning, like dark, angry trolls. My Chinese roommate is impressed with them because as menacing and mountainous and electrical as they seem, through the trees whip and the rain lashes - like special effects - no real damage is done. Love is like that, a circus briefly coming to town, that scintillates, palpitates, irritates or validates - a carney-call with the urgency of a sale. “Run away and join the show,” it whispers. Love is both less than it seems and more than it is.