Zenith

She was told, once, that it is a complicated thing. Impossible. Intangible.

And it is.

But it isn't.

It's screaming and fighting and not going to bed angry. Or explaining grammatical mishaps at an ungodly hour. There're puppies and futons; impromptu tangos just because.

It's impulses and alibis and respect. And broken elevators too.

Contentedness at folding laundry on a Friday night; spending an entire Sunday in bed.

It's braving the opposite ends of the earth to remain on the other's six.

It's standing at the zenith and having someone to share that with.

It's love.

And it's that simple.

FIN