How far does love have to go to be held true and free? How does love remain free when it is subjected to the restraints of ephemera, of preconceptions and expectations? Where does love hide itself when it is persecuted with the chains of yearning?
One lover lies in bed, pining for the gestures and little miracles it once bore witness to, it once received, unable to find courage and peace in those it still does and the new ones, perhaps subtler, that it does receive.
The other asks for patience, for strength, for faith. Trust in the changes of love, for it is still very much love, at the core. And with gentle words this other tries, then with harsher words shrills, and finally with the unkind truths that would bear kindness if heeded and understood. Impotent at the sorrow that befalls the other, consumes the other, unable to find alternate routes to the truth. For this other speaks with truth and holds fast to it, sensing, observing, drawing out the patterns and recognizing them for what they are, though when expressed - perhaps poorly - they fall on walled ears. This other feels the weave falter and become tangled, despairs at the lover’s apparent inability to grasp the lights beyond the darkness of fear and guilt.
Not for the first time, the other wonders if the many differences in character and upbringing, in mettle, are too wide a gulf for them to bridge. Time and time will tell.
As the lover remains taken over by grief and sorrow, unable to see verily, the other holds on to patience and the visage of the truth, that which has been observed in the near distance. The other holds on to hope, and to life, in spite of weary hands and heads, that tattered hearts be fully mended by the grace and toil of love and faith alone.
For whatever reason I began thinking about my daughter, as I do about a thousand times a day. This time, however, I touched upon the fact of how awesome she is.
When I was her age, I was all about giant monsters and dinosaurs and dragons and fantasy. Girls, as I experienced them then, were all about boring pink stuff, barbies, tea parties and just being freakin’ boring. My daughter is all about giant monsters and dinosaurs and dragons and fantasy.
The more I think about it, the more awesome my daughter is and, if the gods are kind and fate is not cruel, in the coming years she won’t completely abandon her current tastes but rather refine them. If so, and I may be that lucky, I will always have that to touch upon as common ground with her.
My daughter is awesome.
|—||Hugh Laurie (via incenses)|
Fuck that, when I started there was no such thing as a checkpoint hahaha
Ratchet & Clank: Going Commando (Ratchet & Clank 2: Locked and Loaded in Europe).