Bed of Roses

A year passed by so quickly. 

So much for the time limit we had set for ourselves - ironic indeed that our hearts had chosen for us the paths we might not have gone down otherwise. 

You whispered about our future, and in those whispers I could see possibility and hope, that something else would come out of this, something that neither of us had spoken of before. A dream that could take shape in time to come, at the right time and setting.

You brought me down paths that I did not comprehend, and showed me the subtleties that ran within your family that still remain shrouded in my understanding. You hinted at things that troubled me. 

It's complicated, no doubt, and perhaps you have chosen the wrong partner to walk with you down these roads. I cannot play these games. I can only walk with you and hold your hand. I wonder if you realize the limitations of my capabilities, if your faith in me is misplaced.

Yet somehow, when our fingers intertwine, everything seems to be all okay somehow, and I find in myself the strength to believe that we will weather whatever life chooses to throw down our paths. 

I am a romantic fool, and I am more likely to choose that bed of roses.