Love Like Molasses

What was I thinking? It took me a year to piece my life together. Just when I thought you were done with uprooting my sense of direction, you return and render me unstable. We were like water gushing uncontrollably out of a sighing faucet, rusting pipes and connections. We were as fast as the speed of light and lighter than the air through which it moved. Every glance, furtive but deliberate as it were, incapacitated my capacities to function normally. We were slick. But now, as gears shift and speeds change, our love has transformed into a careful slush, trickling slowly, making its way infinitesimally towards some destination unknown to neither you nor me. Especially me. Instead of the rapid streams of yesteryear, we now settle into simple sediment that takes the scenic route, moving so slowly that at times I think we have come to a complete stop. Our love, older and more tested, is sweet and slow – not like syrup, which is convenient, or honey, which is easily more referenced still – no, as refined and matured as we are, our love screams to be compared with molasses.