Growing love means getting your hands dirty, your hopes up, and sometimes, your heart broken.
This week, y’all. I can not even find words.
That’s not completely accurate. There are so many words I have in my head fighting amongst themselves. Vowels and consonants tripping over each other in order to the first to roll off the tongue, through the lips, and out into the hot humid air where there is no one but Thom and the cacti to hear them.
It’s been my practice to NOT discuss politics or current affairs in any public forum because
I feel like what I think, what I have to say, doesn’t matter or more truthfully, won’t matter. The best I can do is offer silent support. Love everyone. Be a friend. I’m trying so hard to do that but I feel that I fail every. single. day.
It has seemed silly to come here to my space on the internet and post about the silliness of my little bubble world and my latest obsession.
I escape here because I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to be another angry voice in the mob. I’d rather be the hand holder; the soother; the comforter.
Instead, I look to my little corner of happy: succulents and cacti living together, a growing love that I’m unsure will make it. No matter how much love and kindness I sprinkle, there is a chance these babies won’t make it through the colder months. But, you know? If they don’t? I’ll just replace them. I’ll drive to the store, pick out another lovely, bring it home and repot. I’ll trust that I did everything I could. I’ll sprinkle with food and water. Nurture again. Growing love, again, day after day into a new season.
You can’t regrow people.
You can’t regrow sons and daughters.
Plant more trust, please, for the sake of humanity.
