is it too late?

I thought I knew what love looked like. I thought it was loud and passionate and exciting. I thought I had to feel it all the time, need it all the time. I thought desire was intermingled with love so intimately that there was no difference. I was wrong. I had the real stuff. It was so steady, so underlying, so subtle, that I didn’t even notice it. I thought it wasn’t love. I didn’t acknowledge it as such, or let it grow. It wasn’t loud enough for me and I didn’t hear it. Maybe I didn’t want to hear, scared; it veered too much from what I had imagined it was. Hiding from reality. But now I see. I was so wrong. I can’t go back in time, so only questions remain. Is it salvageable? Are we too changed, too damaged, too scarred? Or are we enough changed that we can see this time, look it in the face with clarity and see what’s really there?

photo: flickr