I thought love would be tall, dark, and handsome
I thought he would wear glasses and read Sherlock Holmes
I thought he would be listening to alternative music
I thought he would wear blue Vans and play the acoustic guitar
I thought he would be driving a black sedan in the afternoon
I thought he would have the gentlest fingers

Instead, love is tall, dark, and rugged
Love wears glasses from the 90s and reads politics
Love listens to songs I had laughed at and to songs I keep close to my heart
Love owns no Vans but has plenty of worn-out faded jeans
Love rides a motorcycle and, more often than not, the public train
Love's fingers are stuffy, if that is even an accurate term

But love has a gentle heart
He speaks no sweet words but his songs are poetry
He is patient and unyielding and stubborn at times
He is funny and crude and full of life
He lives and writes his existence into my being

But love only comes to me with no intention to stay
Love passes me by without meaning to
Love gives me the chance to love, though perhaps he cannot see me as love
Love had looked me in the eyes years ago, but only now did he truly come to my life
Love came to me when I was ready to welcome him
Love arrived when my heart was full of life for him
And now, love leaves when my heart understands
Love departs with a piece of me that I have given him, willingly and wholeheartedly
Love, too, is finding his own way to let go of love
One fine day, you will find her and I will find you