"Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result."*

The bullet that missed
on a sweltering 1972 day
remains the bullet
you fear the most,
the bullet still at large,
circling your life,
seeking a second chance
to lodge in your heart
that like all hearts
cannot stay lucky
forever.

Not all kinds of love are permanent.
Some are as fleeting as cloud shade.
Or as momentary as passing glances.

Not all kinds of love are joyful.
You may hear crying at night.
Most will see bruises and hard stares.

Not all kinds of love are willing.
Others have yet to pack their things.
Excuses are always kept on hand.

Not all kinds of love are sweet.
Tenderness will be asked for.
Time a luxury for few.

But our kind of love is different.
It is not something I can put in the formula of nots and adjectives.
It just is.
It's love.