Tuesday, July 15, 2014


Perspective. It's not how things are it's how you see things... No matter where you are, you are always with you. Time grants you perspective and sometimes you write or photograph about it; I did. A novel that encompasses many viewpoints of same events because the world has many perspectives. 

I used to write about my past loves and I don't want to do that now. I don't want to exploit any person I cared for in an open exposing way that wasn't positive without their permission. Borrowing quirks isn't the same as facing your flaws on paper. It's an interesting conundrum. Photograph them? I don't know yet. A few of my favorite artist Kens once told me it's not a good idea to paint or draw your paramour but some artists do & it's amazing that it works out fine too. So I don't know. Maybe? 

Here's a 300 about the different versions of love. Love has no versions. It is not controlling, selfish or manipulative. Love is freedom. And when it hit's you... you least expect it to. You are taken hold and it's amazing that life is this beautiful everyday... That's perspective! Love & light!

Would you photograph, draw, paint or work on your paramour? Do you have a version of love? 

Kisses, m.


He says this is love.

His version of love carries no commitment.

From day to day to day, I want the same thing and he hardly knows his own name.

Some might tell you that you have full free will when it comes to choosing who you love, when it’s not really like that at all. You have no choice. It’s like a pothole in the road. If you’re lucky and see it in enough time maybe you’ll miss it.

The day before yesterday he tells me that I need to think about what I want. We’re hardly talking at this point but I need to know what I want. It’s important that I know what I want, especially when he doesn’t have a clue.

Talking is what I want. This isn’t what he had in mind and says there’s nothing to say when there is everything to say.

Where is the love he talks about? I can’t see, smell, feel or taste it. It’s not something that I can put a finger on but he says it’s there.

And even when he walks away from me, he says it’s still there.

My heart is scalded by the love that he keeps talking about.

His love, his love, his love. Where is it?

What about our love?

If we’re a pair shouldn’t it be shared?
Before I can even imagine what it would be like to share love he pulls the rug out from under me again.

Love isn’t one-sided. There’s no version where it is all take without give.

But that doesn’t change how I feel when he tells me this is love. I want to believe this is love but everything he does and says contradicts that truth.

His version isn’t genuine.
It isn't love.
It isn’t truth.

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