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I woke up this morning, smiling because I’m in love.

It’s this overwhelming contentment, knowing the weather (sunny or rainy) and my future (determined or not) don’t change it,
                        that some days (most days) it will take some work (much
                        work) to get every detail right.

                             But the joy.
                             Oh, the joy
                                                in such an adventure.
                                             

I (and others) have questioned if I love it, why is it so hard to do? 
I concluded I must not truly love it.

                          But loving a person is a wake-up-each-morning-and-make-it-again commitment. Isn’t that true for everything else?

        PS: I’m in love with poetry.