Love.

By Rachel Beckmann

"My friends often tell me

That it ‘must be nice’

To be in love, long-term—

And then ask what it means.

They ask me

How often I get flowers.

How often he spoils me with

Expensive gifts.

But they don’t know that love

Is the calm of the tide

Right before it rises.

Love is the sweet smell in the air after a light rain,

The bright sunshine after a storm.

Hell—Love is the storm.

Love is a snowfall in April

When it is least likely to begin,

Both delicate and mesmerizing.

It may feel a bit cold at times,

But you see the sun shining through the clouds.

Love is the glass leaving a luminescent light

When the sun directly hits.

Love is both intense and secure.

And love is pulling me closer at 5 a.m.

Before the mourning doves awake

To pull me from my deep slumber.

Love is buying me gas station hot chocolate

When it is cold, and waking up early

To scrape the ice from the car, turning on the heat.

Love is enduring the touch of a fuzzy blanket

Even though you can’t stand the texture

Just so I stay warm.

Love is giving me a dime

When the total is $43.09

Because you know I don’t like to carry change.

Love is delicate, innocent, and slow."