So Fragile

So fragile is this thing called love. Not unlike the soap bubbles of a child, floating on a sultry summer breeze. Bubbles of such beauty, indescribable. Iridescent, shimmering, quivering, these rainbow skinned spheres on high. So susceptible to the whims of the wind. Carried so high above this worldly world, or dashed to the earth only to burst, destroyed in an instant. Why take the chance on this thing we call love? Why do we try to keep something so fragile intact, and how can this possibly be accomplished? Two, it takes two I say, for it can not be accomplished, by one, and one alone, nor should it even be tried. I could do my part and win, but alone it is a game unwinnable. Written March 9th, 1997 © on Oct 09 2001 04:15 AM PST   0 • 8