sweeping dust and tracing clouds

 my idea of love is seeing through someone's invisible dust. 

the small insignificant things

 the specks of their whole being

the unspoken promises and fears

and just everything lingering 

yet still unseen by uninterested eyes. 

its like having a pair of glasses that can magically pierce a soul

the fidgets on your fingers would be big movements

and every frown on the forehead will fold the world

the wounds that even you don't know the origin

would appear as broken bones. 

its knowing the debris that makes you sneeze,

and the dust that allows one to sparkle. 

my idea of love is carrying someone's clouds with them 

the black ones that contain the nightmares

and the innocent clouds that pour the tears. 

the weight would not feel as heavy

and the sky is clearer. 

Its more than just the rain

past the rainbows

beneath the linings

and greater than the sun,

its also the air that makes one breathe.