Falling in love is like climbing a tower of stairs
only to lose your footing on the way up
and come crashing back down to reality
with everybody else.
The first flight of stairs is full of life.
The suspense of togetherness in a world
devoid of individual cares and niceties
creates a shared fire for cold winter nights,
but come the second flight of stairs
the kindling will burn low, and it will be
up to one of you to make it whole again.
Some people don’t know how to make a fire
though years of experience often help.
If you can manage the second flight, the third
will be less stressful. Your body will be accustomed
to the rhythmic pacing, and won’t tire from climbing.
You might even find yourself bored
and come back down, wishing to relive past loves,
until you hit the bottom and find
they don’t come by moving backwards.
The fourth flight is where people often trip
rushing to what they think is the finish line—
a room with white dresses and church bells.
Yet when they turn the corner, and see
another set of stairs, their footing fails
and they go tumbling down again.
But maybe, just maybe, you’ll make it up
past the fifth flight of stairs; past the long last leg
of this long climb we subject ourselves to,
and find yourself on your death bed
next to the only person in the world that matters.
Maybe then you’ll realize the stairs weren’t love,
but that the stairs were life, and that you were lucky
to have someone there to accompany you
all the way to the top.
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