Wrong

And it took me a while to realize

that nothing about our love was
special, nothing about it was
profound, nothing about it was
uncommon. And shortly after
such a revelation was my attempt
to disprove it, to somehow find
the magic ingredient in "us" that
no one else possessed, because
I used our rare love as an excuse
for all my mistakes. My sins and
my backsliding, my disregard
for the truth, my blindness to all
of your dangerous faults. I thought
we were something no one had
ever been. That we were lovely
and wild, so delicate and passionate.
But we weren't any of those things.

We were simply wrong.

The rarest love I will feel will be
the one I take to my grave, but
our love could barely outlive the
winter cold, let alone the next 60
years.