smacked more of philo or agape than the eros she imagined.
Over time, the pragma that took over was a welcome change,
a love of comfort and convenience, each one well aware of what
the other wanted, needed, fleeting expectations making way for
solid knowledge of what would and would not happen.
By then, of course, she'd figured out that "love" can mean a dozen
different things depending on whose lips have formed the words,
and she adapted. She adapted well, in fact, until she met someone
whose love for her encompassed all the facets of the word
in any language, any dialect, the words far less important
than expression, definitions lost in an embrace that didn't
ever seem to end, despite the hours or distance. And she still enjoyed
the word, of course, the whisper of commitment and of hope,
but which love did he mean? It never dawned on her to ask,
as if the morning wondered if the sun, today, would rise.
the word, of course, the whisper of commitment and of hope,
but which love did he mean? It never dawned on her to ask,
as if the morning wondered if the sun, today, would rise.
(c) 2019 Ellen Gillette
Maybe you know couples like that, as I do, who get used to something less than what they hoped for, and then get blown away by something new. It happens.
