Love Is Worth the Weathering

Oh My Darling!, Photo by BradensEye featuring a phallus

Thawing our commotion only asks for love. Whatever manic you’re ever attracting simply deserves devout arrows of affection instead. Herr Cupid’s rounding another corner. Where I’ll be basking in self-love another year, rather than dedicated sexy sharing. If you’ve lucked out on someone’s toasty toes in which to tangle with or you’re caught wrangling a last-minute gift consider those of us who are single. Your lottery is my motivation. It keeps me hungrily hopeful. However, don’t feel sorry for me. I’m rejoicing in a continued drama-free zone while dialing up the rom-com scenery for pleasuring myself. I may have missed a lot of boats thus far, but I believe my ship’s still coming in. All love is worth the weathering. The explanation is in the cure. It’s why we pray for cool in the heat or fancy warmth amidst a chill. We’re built on pining and often failing immediate savoring.

I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees. ~Pablo Neruda, Every Day You Play

What is romance without its seasons? Perhaps I fill my heart with snowballs or bulge my freckles from an array of sun rays. The lesson of natural patterns waffles similar to the fronts we pay people to anticipate for us. I think most meteorologists meander managing Mother Earth as well as we can be expected to shepherd our satisfaction. There’s little way to sharply control external outcomes. Yet, reparations are wittily won through profoundly withstanding periods of a forecast gone awry. Make no mistake about the count of sharp storms, rising tides, trying tsunamis, and torrential downpours an entire arc of living might provide. All the same, be ready for whetting your whistle kissing the freshly dug soils of a water fortune in Tigray, rehearsing the lip-lock you’ve always wanted atop La tour Eiffel, or smooth sailing each island from sea to shining sea.

Sometimes it’s the very swing of surviving climate conniptions that ignites the super spark of a union. You ache for an ocean trance whereas your beau clings to shredding the slopes. Maybe all the tutoring one to another evens some ancient spirit score or burns down your honest-identity-hindrance door. For each bumpy blotch, I’ve aimed to foster a self-empowered notch. Like a monsoon in bathing-suit-peaking June or a swarm of mosquitoes just before your beloved is gonna give birth to your swoon, life isn’t immutably manicured. Fertile grounding is fabuloso but negates the girth of blossoming with an uninhibited pace. The pretty pride of anything is seldom minus the kick of friction wishing for a collision. A malleability of our humility is the hump of finding an enthusiastic crush where once you felt no more. I trust that our tribulations are merely setting us up for relations.

Every morning you greet me

You look happy to meet me ~
Richard Rodgers / Oscar Hammerstein II, Edelweiss

Some people compel me to be religious. They generate a reverence I’ll never shake. I’ll amplify the human Neil Barringham who hashed an upgraded meaning to the old grass cliché stating anew: “The grass is greener where you water it.” For me to love you takes on the courage of me discovering that your enthralling doesn’t need to tandem all of my own. Mimicking with love comprises a soulfully penetrating palate of discernment. One’s silence tips the innate scales to practice patience pangs. Your cold could become my snug sanctuary for a salacious winter break. True love won’t solely set a gaze on the tundra as a frigid place. It recognizes the landscape of a passionate escape or a safe retreat trinket. I see your sheepish frozen tune and raise you one helluva honeyed bouquet. Hailing no derailing embraces the courtesy of individual tastes.

Metamorphosis arrives offering an opening of one’s eyes. I don’t only behold raindrops upon roses or aroused Anthuriums, I sense the personality of our mutual interactions. That there’s nature the environmental surroundings and then there’s nature the proclivity with which we position ourselves in all conditions. When we’re outside we’re not usually delusionally guestimating that we’re able to convert showers into change (cha-ching) further than we have the power to smelt stifling snowbanks or the finesse to melt every heart adored. Although, we ought to notice a faithful range of vulnerability. Picture your level of grace if you gave in to the charity of integrity. It’s no different a relaxation shift as flipping the channel from violence to cuddling. If at first you don’t agree sink into your nurture. Such love is the epitome of weather-resistant durability.

Main Squeeze, Photo by BradensEye

The will to grow blooms by accepting an amount of erosion.

LOVER of life. Especially people, places, philanthropy and photography.

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