#slush puddles

[pugonholiday]

[thenychaiku]

Love is the slush puddle:

There, on nearly every corner, it is: lurking in the gutter, camouflaged with the asphalt, every intersection harboring a chance that you might fall into it.

Sometimes you'll see it coming, but, often, distracted by the traffic or window shopping, you'll be halfway through it before you knew it was there.

Knowing they cannot avoid it forever, some revel in sloshing through, unhesitant, perhaps uncomfortable for the day (week) as their socks (hearts) dry out.

And often those who try their damnedest to skirt around it will find its banks even more unsteady footing, and slide back ankle deep, sigh, accept it, and carry on.

Even those that pause, consider, and leap, determined not to be slowed on their crossing still find themselves stained with starchy gray splotches, clear markings they were, at least, in range for the splash.

Most of all: there is nothing more perversely enjoyable than watching someone else fall suddenly, unexpectedly, completely into it.