You are imperfect
I know that
and yet I feel the safest I have
in a long time
I don’t feel fear or anxiety
but security and safety
I don’t feel the storm of a passion
that’s short lived, intense and dramatic
but the ebb and flow of a slow love
a love that doesn’t need to flash its colours
or parade its feathers
A love that speaks in the quietest of moments
like the squeeze of a hand
or a phone call late at night
a shoulder to cry on
A love that’s there,
A love that’s home