jagged edges
March 11, 2016 § 1 Comment
Maybe love is little more than a pattern of broken lines; jagged edges that belong. The tender places like valleys that do not touch and the rough terrain of old scars that mark our vulnerabilities.
Perhaps the great loves are tiny accidents of fate, chance and recognition claiming self in another; mysteries that cannot be manipulated by efficiencies or orchestrated by arrangement. A beautiful inconvenience and a desperate necessity; one too often left to stories.
He saw in her the bluster of defensiveness and she understood the language of his fears, posturing and preening they pretended a disinterest that was insincere.
scribblechic 
Thankfully Marie, even the sharp bits are full of love 🙂