Sometimes we fall in love with ideas, not people. We fall in love with running through a rainstorm;

dancing in the kitchen.

A day of white roses,

a house with a white fence.

The steam rising from your hot morning coffee,

soft morning light and a gentle chill.

But life isn’t all fun and games.

Neither is love.

The rainstorm is romantic until you’re stranded in it on the side of the road.

What if the kitchen cupboards are bare?

Your one special day turned upside down

because the world is unknown,

the risk too high.

You have the white fence, but it’s not yours,

really.

You pay for it every month, you can’t afford your own.

Your hurried morning tasks let your coffee grow cold,

the light reflects off the dust motes that gather

in your home

in your lungs.

As you wipe the layer of filth away

That someone brings a new rag

To finish what you started

And you’re reminded

You do love them,

Dusty life, or not.