Chopsticks

It was easy to love someone when life was easy. When you could see them to your hearts content, and not suffer the opinions of others.
It was something very different to love someone in the midst of strife.
When I think about what I want to say, I want to say it without cliche, or cheesiness. Things like, love is tested by trials and tribulations seems so magnificent and large in comparison to the common daily trifles.
I remember looking at two people in the wide mirror of my room. My life was scattered in bits and pieces, trinkets of value only to myself. Each brightly colored note taped to my wall reflected in the glass, setting off coins of foreign countries and broken sea shells littering my bathroom counter.
I thought I had these two people figured out, I thought I knew what it was, what I wanted. But it was like everything else. Secret and mine. I could make mistakes and screw things up if I wanted. Nothing was more complicated than I made it, and I sifted through the details making it a simple portrait.
Then those people were separated. It didn't seem like it should work, but it did. Adversity colored the painting of their world, making it brighter, more detailed. A few deep breaths and I put down the paint brush, watching the soft edges of water color do the work. Relaxed, ready to let the art take itself where it would.
I am not the painter anymore, we are.
I think about looking in another mirror, sloppy bun held up with chopsticks, trailing strands brush her face. He is standing behind her watching. This counter is smaller, filled with round make up containers and men's razors, strewn in the chaotic frenzy of the day. Kiss goodbye, and walk out the door, with the promise of the evening. 1 part scared, 2 parts excited, 3 parts of life.