How lucky we are that we can be so ugly

So imperfect and ugly

I can hardly remember a day when my love for you was not so flawed, so messy, so cruel, and unfinished

you returned the favor so

I endured it and I hated it

How could I love so much that it burned me inside, that I should be subjected to a fire that only love could ever make me feel,
I never understood it until I did.

Love is so ugly.

And Love is everything we wish it weren't, painful
scorching
sorrowful
scary.

Love stands beyond the tree line, begging for nutrients that take a toll on the soul

It promises a tree, the only promise that is guaranteed

And what an absolutely ugly tree that that tree will be

To grow beyond the tree line,
what a lucky ugly deed indeed.