Those Clouds

It might be true, that they are really out there. Those clouds. Pearly luminescent love. Wisps and shiny cotton wads of earth’s most natural of resources. Lightly skimming and somtimes envoloping. They float around the world wraping around unsuspecting you’s and me’s. Most of us know they are out there only because we’ve been wraped up in them before. When you are wraped up with love it is a warm lustrous fog. And love, like normal clouds, look solid and seperate and of their own entity from the outside or from a distance. But when you get near one, you learn it has no defined boundries and that it’s an intangible, wonderful and refreshing fog. And when its thick you can’t see a thing. It might be true, that they are really out there. Those clouds.

People don’t meet because they both wanted to rent the only copy of Waiting For Guffman last Tuesday, or because your friends sister has a friend who is new in town, or because the cute girl in the black spaghetti strap top at the party last year couldn’t stop smiling because she noticed that you couldn’t stop staring. Sometimes people just meet, and sometimes they just happen to meet in a love cloud. It might be true, that they are really out there. Those clouds. And some people are lucky enough to bump into each other in their mist and swirl.

When and where we fall in love only seems random because the movement of love is just as sporadic as that of normal clouds. Right now there is one at the South Kensington stop of the Cirle Line, another thick cloud is near a small lake at Minnehetti sports camp in West Virginia, and there are wisps on the fifteenth floor of Mutual of Omaha building in Salt Lake City. It might be true, that they are really out there. Those clouds. And we unknowingly walk into their fog. And we don’t fall in love with each other, we just fall in love.

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