Call me eccentric,
that’s how I am.
Love is not measured by things,
not by expensive gifts,
but by gestures.
I am a hoarder,
my spouse is not,
above things like the card,
he would simply deposit
in the recycling bin,
though that would be
fabulous art surface for me.
But that day,
I was painting at the art table,
and he was sorting the garage.
Quietly, without a word,
he placed the card,
on my table.
No words, just the card,
but it told a lot.
My eyes became watery,
for that is love to me.
My readers,
love is not always spoken,
sometimes a gesture
tells the entire story.
If he had ordered
a diamond jewelry,
I would have been
terribly disappointed.
I would have questioned him,
immigrant life, one salary,
a heavy mortgage, and two kids,
was that spending necessary?
But this card,
on which I can paint my imagination,
is so welcome.
That is love to me.
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About the Creator
Seema Patel
I am Seema. I contribute to PubMed, Blogger, Medium, LinkedIn, Substack, Amazon KDP, Vocal Media.
I write on nature, health, parenting, creativity, gardening, social issues.
My art shop: https://artsforhealinggifts.etsy.com
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More stories from Seema Patel and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Piggy Project
I’ve had so many names in this life I lose track of which ones were ever really mine and which ones I wore because someone needed me to. Some were handed to me before I had words to refuse them, before I knew what they meant, before I knew I could say no. Most weren’t meant to hurt. That doesn’t mean they didn’t leave marks. Marks that told me who I belong to, who I am by way of who claims me, recognizes me in the good and bad, who walks beside me.
By Fatal Serendipity7 days ago in Confessions
Comments (2)
A lovely gesture anyway you look at it, and you do not have to worry about it getting stolen. What a great story to share.
Such a lovely reminder that love speaks in gestures, not just words or gifts. Your story really touched me!