at the end

At the end of it is just love, i suppose.
i haven't been able to figure out another damn thing about this place.
 
as luck might have it, on any given day i can meet the love of my life and then fall, then spend a while down there, fallen, all in bliss and suffering.

sometimes it goes on forever, like every time my brother's wife birthed a child.
     sometimes it is just a moment, a few weeks of fire and ash.

sometimes it has been an echo which only reverberates inside my heart, filling my world, with fainter and fainter calls. silence, then echo, then silence, then echo until it is only a predictable song, familiar and well-loved, if only ethereal.

sometimes there is too much and the rules i know can't fit and i suffer in the division.

sometimes there is not enough and i squeeze blood from turnips and suffer in the deprivation.

i love you with my body, the vehicle i know best. i love you with my mind, the jumpy and inconstant squirrel. i love you with my eyes, if you're looking. i love you with my loyalty if you're worthy of it, and sometimes if you're not.
   and at the end we will bleed, believing in a forever that cannot be, that has never been.
       believing like fools, with our hearts, with our livers in somewhere over the rainbow and fairies and talking lions.

at the end, i shall bleed. on any given day i can lose the love of my life and then fall, then spend a while down there, fallen, all in bliss and suffering.