Love is a choice
It’s not a never ending releasing of butterflies drowning out the doubts in the stomach
It’s the ability to put aside the “I know I’m right”
For the; “we mean more than being right”
It’s the willingness to wake up
After the frigid night before
The conscious decision to be the first to reach out
A testing hand touch of “Are you still mad?”
Fingertips as light as a fox hunting in snow
One hands replying squeeze of “its already forgotten”
The other pulling me tighter
The frost thawing beneath your heat