Love is strange

Love is strange, 

love breaks my heart, 

and asks me to smile. 

It pulls out hopes and poems, 

it pushes through me in tears 

and children. 

Love goes from me 

in different directions 

and comes to me 

from more 

unexpected places. 

Love is the little things, 

over and over, 

and over again. 

The little things 

we think have died,

in fruits that rotted 

long ago, 

the little seeds that sprout 

long after hope’s 

gone long forgotten