Writers 
I did not know love would be this quiet,
Not the loud fireworks they promised in movies,
But you, peeling oranges in my kitchen,
And me, not minding the seeds,
Cherishing every moment like it was the last day.
We have fought over nothing and everything,
Who forgot to call, who left the light on,
Who is wrong, who is right
Who said sorry first, who meant it more,
Yet we stayed. That is the miracle.
You know my bad days before I speak them,
The way my voice goes flat when I am tired,
You don't try to fix me, you just sit,
And sitting, somehow, is fixing.
I used to think love was finding a perfect person,
Now I know it is seeing an imperfect person perfectly,
Loving an imperfect person,
Your late replies, my jealous moods,
Your late calls, my gentle voice,
Your dreams too big, my fears too small.
If tomorrow is hard, and it will be,
If money is short, if roads are long,
I don't need promises of forever,
I just need you to keep peeling oranges,
And I will keep learning to love the seeds,
Just the way I learned to love you.
