|Sweet Peas in my garden.|
No love is a straight shot. It is circuitous, at best. It is tiny strands of thoughts, feelings, and efforts.
All of which often, read almost always, misfire, misdirect, miscommunicate, the giver's intention.
Love for; family members, friends, spouses, children, strangers, potential mates, or next door neighbors, even if you lived there for years and years, can go only as far as the receiver will accept or as well as the giver can communicate.
As a result, or at least in my case, it is missed, misunderstood, or unrequited, and in the worse case scenarios, despised. Which makes the threads, even more tangled then the thousands of fine threads in a wastrel sewing basket, which I of course, have encountered, frequently.
Then there are the moments, the tiny little moments, where the tight knots, loosen, and threads that were not salvageable, slide into alignment. Making possibilities.
It is the possibilities that I look for, nay seek. Seek with certain curiosity, wondering how the story will turn out. It is with patience I watch, delightfully caught off guard, and experience with tentative disbelief, while hopefully, accepting the gift given.