I am cleaning.  Slowly, methodically I am setting things straight.  Cleaning my head, my house…my life.  I cleaned things up with you.  I told you, in voice mail, but I told you what was always there, you know the truth now, the truth you may have suspected, may have hoped for, may have dreaded, but you know it now. 

I am cleaning my house and one of my giant conch shells falls.  It is my favorite, but you knew that.  You were there when I found it.  I am worried it is damaged, I pick it up, inspect it.  It is fine. 

I run my hands along it, inside it and my finger tips touch something.  A piece of paper.  A sticky note.  I pull it out of the shell and immediately recognize your writing. 

It has been years since you were here, years since I got the shell.  Years since you left me this note, on a small square yellow sticky note.  Your thoughts, your feelings.  Insecurity and doubt.  You tell me your truth. 

Did you wonder if I knew?  Did you think I had read it and never said a word?  Is that what happened? 

Years later, we both know the truth.  We both know the truth of us.  Who knew a sticky note would become one of the most valuable things I will own?

Precious bouquets of hot house flowers do nothing for me. Dandelions, violets, clover, thistle and cornflowers – you may call them weeds – those are the bouquets you should pick for me.

Weeds thrive in drought, sprouting up where ever they can get a foot hold and spreading to any available area, their blooms bright and vibrant despite all efforts to eradicate them. Cottony dandelion heads spreading their seeds, ensuring survival, in their dreamy delicate way.

Give me flowers that grow untended and uncared for and I will know you understand. Understand the truth about how love is like a weed, sprouting where it can, surviving through the droughts and all efforts to erase it…it still thrives, still blooms – where you least expect it…sending its dreamy delicate seeds out to ensure its survival.

I do not seek
Love
As it is an
Unwritten rule
that which is
sought
becomes all the more
elusive.

I do not
need
to be completed
I am
enough.

All that
remains
is to be
Complimented.

I can only love you open handed.
I can only offer me – flawed and human
That is all I can ask in return.
I can not change or hold you.
To try is to taint and destroy.
I will not plead or promise.
I can only give you this.