Champagne Pink

Love doesn’t hit you like a freight truck.
It doesn’t leave you bruised and bleeding
on the side of the road,
mouth full of dust,
wondering what you did wrong.

Love lifts you
from the depths of darkness,
props you upright,
and lets you observe.

Love comes in through the window…
gently…
like a mist.
A champagne pink mist.

It fills the room
with warmth,
with gentleness,
with a silence that doesn’t pierce
or demand to be named.

It warms you from the inside out.
Love is an entity of its own.
It has escaped the depths of hell
and landed here,
in my room,
where I watch it dance before me
with speckles of gold and yellow light.

It feels fizzy at my fingertips,
effervescent…
but also like the caress of a velvet blanket
laid carefully over bare skin.

It circles my head,
my lips,
my throat,
whispering to each place:
you are safe.

It doesn’t take over.
It doesn’t hold me down.
It doesn’t make me cry.

It lets me watch.
It lets me wonder.
It leaves room for curiosity.

Love is a champagne pink mist,
and when it is ready,
it will find you…
settling into every broken bone,
every open wound
you thought would never close.

Love is very different
from red hearts
and red roses
and boxes of chocolate.

Love is not loud.
It is not sharp.
It does not bruise.

Love is quiet.
Love is warm.
Love arrives
without asking you to disappear.

Love stands in the room with you
and waits
until you are ready
to breathe again.

Love arrives
and lets you live.

For those who listen between the lines.
Elaine Degro