Un-just

Many-splendored and completely ordinary there’s precious little more banal than trying to define the only thing that ever was trapped in vain attachments entangling contraptions of circumstance and expectation If we only understood all of it is just as good pure, even holy— we wouldn’t trip over ropes meant to distinguish “friend” from “lover” one from other as every flower of the same miracle in every color that blooms Green is hardly less than Red no one Loved just a Friend