Love me, love me not. I wasted too much time listening to the petals.
If life was really like the movies, we'd pick the perfect flower with the perfect number of petals to give us that perfect answer about our "perfect" love.
That daisy was my last hope. Those petals, my last attempt to grab hold of something I had spent so much time nurturing. But plants don't grow in a world of half-sunlight and partial showers. Neither did I. Neither did we.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
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Maybe there's some twisted perfection in the imperfection of our lost loves and our deep hurts. Maybe the perfection is in our willingness to nurture, even if it is a lost cause, because once the shit clears some something will be waiting there wondering what took us so long. Maybe.
I've been there. Hell, I AM there. And I have to believe we'll all figure it out.
when i don't need the petals anymore...
that's when i'll know it's real.
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