Knowing the rules of love and never able to conquer or
win at it's intricate and delicate balance.
Tipping one way or another, never being totally level
in any circumstance throughout existence.
Realizing because we are so imperfect in every way that
is the way our love will always play out in the end.
An imperfect and fruitless love to try and get what we
can, to give us a modicum of satisfaction and fulfillment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem