The Beauty of Love

I think there's some
misconceptions
about love; some things that need
to be cleared up.
You don't spend every day
walking through fields and
revisiting the place  that
you first met.
There're rarely flowers
or chocolates
and if you don't kiss for three days
it doesn't mean you're going to die.
And there are days when
you can't stand the sight of
their face.
And days when you just
want to be alone cos
you were working late and
were out late with
people who they don't approve of.
And you've got your head in the toilet and
they're stood in the doorway
screaming their head off and
you're screaming too.
But the point of it is
that when you dump your
sorry self
into bed,
they're the one
who brings you that glass of water.
And when you're home
alone, and outside it's
dark and cold and there's
nothing on TV,
you've always got that person
to call.
And it's that person who
knows every tiny molecule of your
being, and
who has seen you at your worst,
and your lowest and your cruelest
and who still picks up the phone
to just listen.
And even if,
the next day,
you can't stand the very presence
of each other, or argue over
how, whenever your friends are over,
you act like different people,
or how you always
organise everything and if you'd just
show some initiative for once
in your life then
etcetera, etcetera,
you know it won't last.
Because when you crawl into bed at night,
they'll be there.
And you'll put your arm around their chest
and kiss their neck
and say
goodnight, love.
And that's the twisted, crazy, evil, fucking
holy beauty
of love.