the quiet love stories that I am interested in – the loves that never
get spoken of, never get any semblance of fulfillment – the loves laden
with the kinds of promises that leak from the beginning.
The loves that
hold no water.
The loves that can be acknowledged only dimly in the back
recesses of thought processes, the loves that get tucked away in
storage units. Too precious to throw away, not important enough to
warrant throwing everything else away.