like a garden

I was having a night where I wanted to write, but nothing was really forming.

I texted Greg that I wanted to write, but I couldn’t think of anything. The following conversation happened:

Greg: A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory. LLAP That’s Spock’s final tweet before he passed last week.

Me: Wow. I love it.

Me: I’m getting some vague ideas of a post forming.

Greg: Things from a garden can be preserved in jars though.

Me: The “fruit” from life can be preserved for a bit. Sometimes to be shared with others. Sometimes to use when the garden is dead and there’s nothing left. Hmm…

Greg: Or you can just go to Kroger.

Me: Haha. Oh goodness. Taking the depth right on out.

Greg: Love (like a garden) is meant to be shared and not collected and stored, canned and forgotten, spoiled and fermented until it resembles nothing of what you put in it. Love feels better fresh and free of the confinement we often put it in because we’re too worried that’s all we’ll ever get. It’s a fear that shouldn’t exist. We’ll always have more. Share.

Me: You blow me away…

Greg: How’s that? They are just words.

Me: And you say you aren’t a writer. Words aren’t just words. Words are life and hope and truth. Words are the way to my heart.

Greg: I’m all up in it ;)

And now I’m stuck again. But I’m thankful for a future husband that can meet me where I am, and write when I can’t.

And now I’ve got thoughts of life and love floating in my head.

And since tomorrow is a snow day, hopefully I’ll have a new opportunity to write.


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