It seems the older I get, the more I reflect,
Taking stock if you will of life’s pantry.
A storeroom filled with faces and names,
The loves and lies that made up every relationship.
Emotional deception was never a cause.
Failure was always a result of perception.
Theirs or mine. Usually mine.
Salvage became a specialty.
Sad are my thoughts about that now.
How unfair it is that love is such a basic ingredient.
We throw it out there so easily.
Perhaps too easily.
Love isn’t a jewel anymore.
We hand it out like tokens at the door.
Always seeking validation of our worth through love.
Then stand in the rubble of our relationships.
Love makes up the pebbles in our life.
Strewn at our feet they lay as silent reminders.
We love our cats, our dogs, our friends, our hobbies.
We even stretch it to favor us in lesser relationships.
Being in love, true love, is a rock.
Standing proud like a granite monolith,
Withstanding the storms and battles,
And the chipping and fracking of just living.
It doesn’t lie at our feet like the pebbles.
It’s what we stand upon.
Giving the fullest measure of rock steady,
And relevance in size and scale of our other relationships.
We shuffle through the pebbles in our lives,
Finding footing or tripping as it may be.
Each of us searching for our rock.
Hoping it still lies ahead of us, and not behind us.
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