Sometimes, love is an almost thing

by jimowensjr

Sometimes,

love is an almost thing,

like a storm

approaching from the horizon

full of promise,

coming near and passing over the parched cracked clay

only to drench the soil of another’s heart;

 

Sometimes,

love is an almost thing,

like a noise in the darkness,

some unfamiliar sound,

taunting,

rising from some vague, mysterious place,

fading into echoes

ringing off the canyon walls of our souls;

 

Sometimes,

love is an almost thing,

a letter sent,

written in hope and tears,

full of sorrow and desperation and pleading,

lost in endless rows of gray,

lying in bins of undelivered confessions,

bereft adieus,

ornate invitations and

proper thank-yous,

hibernating in the dust of confusion;

 

Sometimes,

love is an almost thing

a wandering spirit

full of untold grief, looking for home,

roaming the cold night of eternity,

searching for some place to lay down

her head in the warm sunlight

and cool grass of peace and comfort and rest;

whole and full and unwanting.

 

Sometimes,

love is an almost thing.

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