The Feared Welcome of Love
There is a fear in finally welcoming love, especially when it, yet again, has surpassed the chosen unnoticed, or rather carefully has ignored me, waiting patiently, until I sigh and say, you yet again. Now, before, during, and hopefully not afterward, I kept watch for the first out, the faraway look, that pressed me inward re crushing my spirit, clouds covering the first drops of the last rain. Except this time the expected dark has not yet appeared, For this time, my consideration engenders another's, applying to mine, forwarding each others, upwards, forwards and again, sunlight reflecting light over each other as if it was past the first day. Still the fear remains within me: it always will, and I wait stilled to send it away should it reappear again this time. It does. For the last time.