Everyday Passion

I know you love your wife. And I know you love your husband. I think it’s GREAT that he got you a dozen roses, and took you out to a romantic dinner. I mean, how original is THAT?! I got plants. A gal with a brown thumb (as in kills most plants in her possession) got plants-only one time did he ever send me flowers-it was when we first starting talking, and they were wildflowers. (In fact, the wildflowers secured a few friends votes for him because up until that point they were quite skeptical of Kevin.) But now that cactus is blooming, and the other plants are smiling at me-the ones he gave from the heart. The ones that continue to thrive long after he has gone, with no help from my brown thumb.

Welcome to Valentine’s Day. I won’t go into what could be a very well justified rant about the ridiculous amount of money that is spent on primo roses, chocolates, and sentimental cards, because somewhere deep inside all girls want at least a piece of that. But the thing is, we don’t really need it on this particular day. Why don’t you send them on a non-suspecting day? Trust me, this act will earn you beaucoup brownie points!

I want originality-and I got that with Kevin-via plants. And a few songs he wrote on his guitar and sang to me, and by passionate love letters that no sane man should be able to right. Men aren’t supposed to be that deep are they? In every ounce. Every ounce they are as deep and passionate as we are, and just as complicated-they just tend to hide it a lot better than we do. Or maybe not necessarily better, but just ignore that they have the capability to feel something as intense and passionate as we do. When I would look in Kevin’s gaze I would see that passion and intensity-and often it was so driving that even I felt I could not handle that.

So don’t hand us flowers, or chocolates…but give us that intensity of love, the spoken truth of emotion, the ability love us so immensely that we can barely hold on.

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