Love is a fickle game, is it not?
like the minutes passing at sunset
that with each passing click of the second hand
leaves the sky completely changed, it would seem.

Falling in love for you and I
are different from each other
yet, the same, I guess,
do you not agree?

You love as if falling back, and
I love as if pushing forward,
but when you fall back,
I'm always there to catch you, aren't I?

You love as if making a sandwich.
You use a knife, I use a spoon for the jam;
but even though you expect a knife in your hand,
I, the spoon, do the job just as well, if not better.
Did you even know you could use a spoon?

Love for you is putting on a robe and crown
and adorning things that will make all beautiful;
but Love for me is a stripping away of all that,
of all skin, and bone, and flesh, and blood,
and it's all beautiful, just the same.

You give me your heart like a child to a parent
would give something they'd found on the floor.
innocently, and carefully, tears in your eyes,
because was that not where he left your heart before?
Am I not there to comfort you in my arms,
and were you not begging me to help?

You didn't need to beg. But you'd been taught that love is begging.
That love is pleading
and hurting
and searching
and struggling
and giving
not taking
stretching
and breaking
and trying
and dying
together, but alone.

But, My Darling,
Love is giving
and taking
trying
and dying
to live
and stretching
yourself
and myself
and creating
the new
and creating
the better
and destroying
the old
and destroying
the worse.

Yes, we think differently about love and life,
but we have a lot in common, more than you know,
or I know, especially.

I saved you, will you save me?