I tap my fingers on your waist as we listen to the radio.

You smile and nuzzle your head into my shoulder.

I pull your hair behind your ear so I can see you better.

They say that’s the storybook love, the lying love.

To me, it’s the truest love one could dream of.

I’m not scared of the future, but there’s much to be scared of.

I feel safe with you, despite everyone against us.

A healthy relationship is the one that makes you feel that way.

I look at the others.

I look at our friends, and they aren’t in love.

You can see it in the way they look in each others’ eyes.

When you look at me, your eyes alight with the spirit of the universe itself.

When they look at each other their eyes stay dull with the apathy of materialistic lovers.

Because you don’t have to be in love to be lovers.

You don’t have to be lovers to be in love.

Storybook love is love, no matter what the pessimists say.

What the others have, that’s not love.

The way they look at each other, that’s not love.

Being lovers,

that’s not love.

This poem is about: 
My community
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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