I’m used to a love that gives more than it receives. Maybe the famous line “You accept the love you think you deserve” is wrong. Maybe what is true is “You accept the love you recognize”.
I give because that’s all I know what to do. That’s all I’ve been asked to do. Give. Provide. Serve.
A selfish soil grows a selfless flower. The flower exists to give nutrients to the soil. Forever trapped in the pot, dependent on the soil that gave birth to it. No matter how much it blooms it will remain unseen, unheard of, unspoken. A secret. A hidden potential.
It gives until it withers, deprived of its sense of identity and freedom. It is only taught how to give, to provide, to serve. That is the flower’s version of love.
That is the love I recognize.
Nobody will put me first. I live so he lives. If it means dying, I’ll probably come to save him first. I can compromise. He expects me to compromise. Because he owns the pot, the garden, and the very soil that made me a flower.
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