Twisted Love

When I was a teenager, we had a cat named Dusty. He was an inside/outside kinda guy. On his outdoor excursions, he would bring us gifts. Running up the porch steps only to be halted by a dead bird is definitely not the best greeting. For me, it was gross. For him, though, it was love. Twisted, yea, but cats are special like that. After a while, I got used to his dead little woodland gifts. I found a way to let go of my perceptions and accepted his.

People can be Dustys. They go out and plop dead stuff on the Welcome mat. “Welcome,” they say, “I love you. See?” If you are smart, you roll with it. You pick it up and toss it in the neighbor’s bushes, always giving them the side eye. If you are too hung up on how wrong it is, you leave it to rot and decay. The stink rising to greet you day in and day out. I am guilty of letting other’s Dusty-gifts sit and stew until the stink was unbearable. Stubborn to the core.

Letting go is not my strong suit. I hold onto everything for far too long. But I can be the bigger person. I have proof. I can also be pretty petty (for which I also have proof). In the end, I suppose it is all about letting go of my perception and let others have theirs. What is right and what I feel is right does not negate the fact that from their vantage point they see right, too. Their right is stupid (btw), but who am I to judge? If I let go…If I unclench my fists and rest my heart, I won’t have to smell the stink. I can just chuck it up to a twisted kind of love, toss it over the fence and carry on.

~SM

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