A love story

Of sorts. Of a sort on the edge of the just beyond.

At a fork on a pebbled road between

mountain and sea. At the end of a pier,

curled toes over worn woody edge.

All the unsaid. And the volumes spoken in silence

between the one glance and the next.

Today? A year from now? The mystery

of least expected, ah the randomness of being,

of sharing space, breathing the air

whereone has passed one temporarily.

And the uncertainty so fuelled by

all of the unknowing, of the never ever

and the maybe wanting,

of the almost needing, just.

Just managing to look past and beyond

the obvious. Point where

there is no sure safe fail return.

No true love story that's for sure.

But a story still, continuum of being in suspension

in-between happenstance/pure certainty.

The threshold from within, without,

and the surrendering to infrequent continuity.

Time passes, colours change and

this story remains, re-writing memory

in patterns random, so, so breathtaking.

Strangeness of strangers meeting fleetingly,

tossing and catching thoughts in passing

amid the chaos of a carefully divided living.

Mostly,a wish for never stopping.

No serial and mundane conversations, no flesh

on flesh creation of reality.

No need and fear and greed, dishonesty, no loss

transferred through ink and

tears, no scrunched up papers tossed

in landfill. Worse still, recycled,

bleached of emotion and of memory,

tragically wiping some miss-managed fat arse, no!

This is a love story. Love is ethereal.