"The very essence of romance is
uncertainty," I think aloud to myself
as I dangle my legs carelessly,
sitting on a low branch of an oak.

Putting a foot tentatively on the
trunk and one hand up, I lift myself
higher. "You see, romance needs fuel.
We are never content to be still."

My grip loosens suddenly, and I hang
carelessly from one arm. "Risk is
arousal," I philosophize as I pull myself
upright, my heart racing frantically.

Higher, I reach until I can go no
further, and I stop. "Romance goes with
excitement. Stability leads to boredom,"
I conclude and climb down quickly,

Almost disturbing an elderly couple below,
sitting like two vines grown intertwined,
and holding hands as they have for years,
so safe and serene in their certainty.