Us

Once, love was scribblings;
dreams penned in loops

swirling in and out of the lines-
hearts drawn on foggy windows
and carved in sand,

stars to wish on,
petals to pluck:

“he loves me,
he loves me not”

He was only a pronoun
created from my perfect adjectives
and I was only a dreamer
with a pen.

There were rivers and mountains
in between fantasy
and fate

and so we climbed,
swam seas of doubters,

and met in the middle.

That perfect key fit
and now he and I

are us;

still swimming, still climbing

together.

~