Patterns and Types

Seasons  
Moments    
Life is a dreaming    
    
The cold    
The warmth    
The distance    
Near    
     
Grey    
Clouds    
Today    
     
Sometimes life is like a grey cold day. An old house, blinds open, dimlit. Would you love me if a drafty old house was the best I could do? This manifestation becoming your truth, your world. Love is blind but awakens.      
     
That funny knock in the old car, the furniture a bit dated or worn; lives hurled at work that doesn't return. Life doesn't oft equal the sum of one's labors, the measure of dreams, as when love first awakened.    
     
Would you love me now, not of habit but with fire? I, worn of working for always one bill too many - and you just the same. And perhaps other mouths, younger mouths to feed. Am I necessity until something better, or is reality no longer dreaming of better...    
     
Do dreams die or do we just give up fighting in the struggle for breath, sedated by tv? The shows, our myths, oral stories with pictures retold again and again with some slight change of settings. Is this the reality of our dreams?    
     
You'll never love trees, mountains and streams as do I. And yet, you mattered more when love first began. You were my life's first real choice. You became my life. I became yours. Is life too hard or love not as strong?    
     
If I told you my deepest heart said, "Chuck it all, cash it in, roll the dice and begin again"...would you with me, somewhere else, somewhere new? Could we search our inner stars and chart a new course for our dreams. Near or far, even if we stayed, would you try again with me, to be.    
     
Could we learn to breath again, your breath mine, my breath yours, as if in a kiss. Work and life remains, but how we see, could it change?    
     
Soft shadowed days    
Cloudy days    
Pondering    
Questions as these