Love Is

by Michael Cuglietta

Love is planning for the future, is being present in the moment, is reliving the past with a brand new set of eyes.
Love is the extra scoop of coffee that made the pot too dark to drink no matter how much French vanilla creamer you mixed in.
Love is looking at the sunset or the half-lit moon and realizing for the first time that you're looking at the sunset or the half-lit moon.
Love is talking about your childhood over a couple of drinks in your favorite bar on a Friday night when, finally, neither one of you have to be up early the next morning.
Love is waiting for her to open her big, blue swimming pool eyes, ready for a couple of laps in the deep end.
Love is being woken up with a kiss, smack on your sleepy lips.
Love is anxiety, is very scary, is risky business, is frying up the best folded eggs you've ever fried up with just the right amount of butter melting in the pan and just the right amount of salt and pepper sprinkled on the top.
Love is uneasy, is confusing, is sitting in a bathtub writing so much poetry, not knowing what else to do with these feelings.
Love is waiting for the end of the workday when you can pick up your baby and bring her to her favorite restaurant.
Love is watching how happy she gets when she's eating chicken Marsala with a side of penne Alfredo at the place where they make the best Alfredo sauce she's ever tasted.
Love is melting with her happiness, is melting with her sadness, is melting with every moment of pleasure and every moment of dissatisfaction she's ever had.
Love is learning to draw boundaries, is realizing you can't save the world, is realizing you have so much to give and gain, so much to lose and take.
Love is being happy (most of the time).
Love is losing arguments and winning arguments.
Love is an affectionate hand on the side of your face "You're all scratchy today. When's the last time you shaved."
Love is shaving and showering and dressing nicely and looking your best.
Love is a lot of work.
Love is in the bed, snug under so many blankets and pillows.
Love is on the couch, unconsciously running your fingers through her long hair.
Love is in the car, stopped at a red light listening to her complains about her mother.
Love is sitting on the chair in her living room waiting for her to get out of the shower, "How much longer? We have a seven-thirty reservation."
Love is making reservations and missing reservations and worrying too much about being in all the right places at all the right times.
Love is worrying too much, is over analyzing telephone calls, is over analyzing everything.
Love is feeling so alone sometimes.
Love is playing video games and eating chocolate cake and listening to your favorite song on repeat until it's not your favorite song anymore.
Sweetheart, will you play video games and eat chocolate cake and get sick of listening to your favorite song with me?

Maintained or neglected, familiar or foreign, well-worn or wild, roadways inform our decisions and identities. Their geographies direct the movement
of our lives and sketch the cartography of our stories. In this spirit, 322 Review publishes provocative emerging and established artists whose fiction,
creative nonfiction, poetry, and mixed media artwork wander the paths of human experience. A nonprofit literary journal conceived
and operated by former Rowan University graduate students, 322 Review is based in Southern New Jersey.