Love is not easy in the blinking of the eyes trying to grasp the morning sun.
It isn't easy with the splash of cold water on the face
And the mumbling of words reaching the tip of the tongue before anything else.
Love isn't easy in the dressing of clothes that weren't meant to fit this body type,
Or the jeans that years before framed my hips the way that they only refuse them now.
Love isn't easy on the snowy streets and risky roadsters.
It isn't easy when you're running on coffee's remorse and three hours of dreams.
Love isn't easy when you come home and shut your eyes, and wake in the middle of the night.
It isn't easy when your thirsty for something besides that cold glass of water,
Hungry for a feeling that only attacks your emptiness in the cold of the evening.
Love isn't easy when absent smiles and empty checking accounts blind the
Lovers who guided you along. Love isn't easy, it's hard-headed and distant,
So I think--
Love isn't easy, it's hard. Love isn't right, it's wrong. Love isn't easy, it's hard,
But love is here, and it is near, and I must try not to let it become a fear.
I like to write; point blank. This is a little piece of me that I get to share with the rest of the world, and hey, you know, maybe you'll appreciate it, maybe it'll do nothing for you. But my writing exists, and that's enough for me.
© 2019 Silvia Iorio. All rights reserved.