They always say the same things -
the script and the show

“Let’s fall in love over a fancy dinner
and stories of travelling the seas.”
“Take control of my car stereo
play whatever you love.”
“I did three thousand pushups in three minutes, darling, feel my biceps.”

Same faces,
same words,
same places,
same stories.
Heard it all before.

But maybe -
if we’re able to cry all night
on the other’s shoulder,
for no reason,
or a hundred reasons.

If we can scream out
the moments we felt small
felt guilt,
felt shame,
felt fear,
felt agony.

If your long paragraph
meets mine
and we don’t flinch.
Just hold.
Just stay.

If we can dance,
inebriated,
with arms so entwined
we forget
whose hand is yours
and whose is mine.

If we lose track of time -
in silence,
in words,
in laughter.

Let love bloom
in a secret garden
of periwinkles and petunias
but also
in the mud,
the mould,
the stains of regret
and wishful thinking.
Let it exist
in nightmares
and dreamless nights.

Not perfect.
But present.
Something different.
Something more.