I’m loosing the notion that love has to be grandiose.
That it moves in broad gestures and flitting grins
and the sweeping magic of surprises.
I’m unclenching my fists from the hem of hope’s skirts,
letting myself slide back down toward earth,
stopping my saddling of clouds and
the promise I might find hidden in a breath
caught.  I’m unraveling the apron strings from
fingers knitted in hours and hours of waiting and worry
and want and wonder.  I’m sighing.
Sighing as I feel the burden of expectation slip away
and dissipate into dawn’s glittering morrow.
And I’m peppering my life with stars I would’ve wasted
with wishes and carefully watched constellations,
bringing their light into the moments when I’m most afraid
of the wrenching choke of being alone.

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