the windows of love

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Love is a window that is one often opened with white satin gloves. It is beautiful and delicate, made of glass that we see right through…Its something that we fear breaking.  But, love is also a difficult window to open at times. From the hard rains in the summer, to the cold nights in between… we cannot see through the dirt and grime. This vantage point, this view that we treat so guarded… it gets covered with so many different things that we may not see through to the other side. We somehow wish to protect our satin gloves from being ruined opening this dirty window. Isn’t it funny that in times like these we forget what’s important? How do I suppose the relief of fresh air will gain entry? During moments that make me feel so alone and without air to breathe? Love is not to be handled with white gloves alone. Gloves that protect our vanity. We so often concern our hearts with the appearance of love… we become people that have no versatility … love is within the labor of always being sure our window remains open. True love is dirty and bloody… Love may be presented to us with bows and ribbons, it may be so very worthy of the essence of honor and decorum… but in the boots I have walked or the roads that I’ve traveled … love takes work gloves and mud… love is pain. Love means ruining those white gloves. Every bit of sediment on its tracks…  each time we fall face first in the mud… so long as I can see you through my window pane… I can tell you that I love you.  ©

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