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Head in a Cloud
There’s a kind of love that swipes the mind clean of logic,
A tender ache omnipresent in the core of your chest,
It’s pervasive aura encompassing body and soul.
The sensation lingers in the air, a fog that settles upon all who see.
Perhaps you feel it in the midst of a Jane Austen novel, or at
The turning point in a sappy romance movie,
The look on the face of that man as his bride strides up the aisle,
Or of your grandparents after fifty years together, still utterly and completely
Perhaps you have been the one fortunate enough to experience it,
And felt that staggering realization that
This is it.
Or maybe, you, too, have watched eagerly from a distance, tearing your way
through Jane Austen, or
placing yourself inside that happily-ever after,
the ache throbbing within your chest, hoping that someday,
you will find that fog settling upon you,
encircling your heart, leaving an ache deep within.
Throw the dice, what are the chances you’ll fin The One? But
Love is not black and white probability,
Love is a toss-up, with zero predictability.
Throw the dice. You just might find
The kind of love that swipes the mind clean of logic
A tender ache omnipresent in the core of your chest.
Wait while others watch as
Love’s pervasive aura encompasses you, body and soul.
Hoping the fog will never lift.