Love is fettered.
And all I know is that I know nothing.
Nothing of the beauty, nor the pain.
No, I am not one to presume.
But I know what it’s like to stay.
To weld your lives together.
With banged it into shape.
It worked… for a while.
We could have stored it safe.
Out of the cold and rain forever.
9 years, 22 years, 40 years, 58 years.
Shiny and reflective its surface would have shone.
Oiled gears moving in perfect synchronicity.
With a lifetime of use and abuse.
It would have been beautiful.
But what would we have used it for?