a kind of guy

You seem
like the kind of guy
I would get to know
if I was reading a good book.
The hero of the story,
the one who always comes through
in the end,
and saves the girl.
You seem
like the kind of guy
who smiles at everyone,
and though you talk to me,
I know that you
won't ever remember my name.
You seem
like the kind of guy
who could be so much more
than the average career-and-settle-down,
who doesn't give up big dreams
just because they're not practical.
You seem
like the kind of guy
I wish I knew.

To love is to be hurt

To love is to be hurt,
not free from pain.
Always continuing,
always reaching out,
even when your hand is smacked away,
and your heart gets shattered.
When I think about his pain,
how he was abused emotionally
by his twelve closest friends,
betrayed, denied, abandoned,
how he was physically wounded,
in the most brutal way possible,
mocked, jeered, tormented,
yet.....
he chose to love the friends who abandoned him,
he chose to love the soldiers who beat him,
he chose to love the crowd that mocked him,
and still.....
he chooses to love the unrepentant murderer,
he chooses to love the straying spouse,
he chooses to love the gossiping friend,
he chooses to love...me.
How can I refuse to love
those who simply rub me wrong?
How can I refuse to love
those who stabbed me in the back?
How can I refuse to love
the strangers that I meet?
To love is to be hurt.