When could there possibly be a better time? it's times like this when true love is *vital* and shows its strength. It's a underdeveloped love that is going to throw in the towel over less-than-stellar bacon. Love can seem easy in the quiet romantic times. The "of course I love you and will stay forever" is easier then, in quiet moments of candlelight and wine. It's remembering what the "forever" is that is harder.

It's easy to speak love in the dark... what about in broad daylight in the glare of the sun and the world?

When the world is falling to pieces around your ears, bacon, mess, children, busses and all, and you can still look up and speak of love, and know of love and know its truth... therein, that one fragment of truth amidst the chaos... it is places like that that true love is found most deeply. i can't think of a better time or place to talk of love.

I want to speak to you of love, I want to tell you of each dream that nestles my child-like mind. Too old to dream of stickball, to young to dream of eternity.

I feel urges, that are called natural. Emotions that real men hide. I want to engulf your soul with my heart. Touch you with the life flowing through my veins. As I reconcile burned bacon with hungry brothers and sisters. I take a fleeting moment to imagine you age 21.

The warmth of your face renders suns useless. The sound of your voice blocks out the screeching of the bus I'm missing. I need to talk of love, but I can't. Not while the children are screaming.

I clean up as fast as I can. There just isn't enough time. My soul is weak. I put thoughts of love, of love and you, aside. I renew my pact with the chaos of a white trash slum in Richmond Hill, Queens. Another day, perhaps, I'll talk of love. For now I must ready my home.

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