Cliché is easy when writing about love.
Describing fairytale endings, pure white doves.
Or a knight in shining armour
Come to whisk you away
To fill you with happiness
Every sun-filled shiny day.
But love isn’t perfection, an unblemished thing
a continuity of bliss symbolised by a ring.
It can be going to bed angry, disregarding advice
Snapping and nagging and not being very nice.
Then saying “I’m sorry, can we start anew?”
And forgiving each other, pushing on through.
It’s that comfortable feeling from really knowing someone
Utterly and completely, inside out, right and wrong
It’s putting up with in-laws
And things encroaching in your “space”
Forgiving the “lads’ nights out”
When he comes home off his face.
It’s knowing his insecurities and forgiving the things that annoy
Like forgetting anniversaries or simply “being a boy”.
It’s lending a jacket and holding a hand
Thinking of the other when making future plans
It’s waking up warm and not feeling alone
Looking forward each evening to heading back home
It’s knowing whatever happens
Through the good times and the rough
You will always have each other
And you will always know love.