Love can come like raindrops on a spring day,
pattering down,
cool on your skin under the scudding puffs of cloud,
the cool breeze touching your hair and lifting your heart,
joyful, anticipating possibility and adventure
then dampening your face
with drops that fall thicker through the swirling wind
as the sky grows ever more gray,
and love pours down in sheets, in buckets,
the gusts catch your breath,
thunder rumbles its warning,
and you run, run, run
for refuge.
Love can come like a sprout,
this young sapling that sprang from a seed planted who knows when,
growing undetected
branches reaching
roots pushing wide and deep through the rich, loamy soil,
until you feel the shade and look, surprised, to see its canopy spreading overhead
find yourself safe in its solid embrace
realization dawning of how you have been growing together
entwined, interdependent,
into tall oak companions,
constant, enduring, timeless.
Love can come like a solitary key along the path,
holding the promise of something undiscovered,
offering its invitation,
waiting,
until you stoop to pick it up
fit its bitting to the keyway
feel the tumblers click as your heart turns,
breaks open
spills over--
surging, cascading, as you're swept away
weightless
drifting
soaring
wondering at its existence,
this key in your hand,
a perfect match.
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