I’ve come to realize
A mistake I’ve been making.
I looked at each night
As bad or good
And found far more bad nights
Than good.
I sat on the couch
Watching the door
And wondering
What manner of beast
Would ride through.
But nights are not black or white.
They are a million shades
Of gray.
And the beast that bursts the door
Is only a woman
Having a bad day.
Self fulfilling prophecies
Are called such for a reason.
My expectation
Night after night
Was a foreboding.
And that inclination
Made it so.
Now I see that nights are just nights.
And that the status quo
Is also aptly named.
I welcome the many shades of gray
And take each night
On its own merits.
The beast is gone
And only my love remains
To cross the threshold
Night after night.
