All the Years Between

By: JoJo Ball

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz.

Nothing worldly could describe it.

In fact I would say nothing at all.

Perhaps it could be described as all the

best parts of the greatest things on

Earth. Like spending all day playing

in the sunshine yet without the

sunburns, the pouring sweat, the constant

threat of bees, the allergies or the

dehydration. Or like kittens without

the whining, the defecation or the

constant need for attention. Still after

this long, I can’t place my finger on

what it is about you that makes you

perfect. I know what it is, I know

The feeling but it’s indescribable.

I once thought that perfection

didn’t exist. Steven Hawking claims

that if perfection did exist then

physics wouldn’t work. But what does he know

about Chemistry? The chemistry

between me and you? What does he know

about you, my definition of perfection?

To me perfect is a feeling and I felt it

when I met you and I’ll feel it when we

grow old including all the

intricate years between