Fear the Reeper

His love was rapacious, eager, all consuming, everlasting and ever present. It loomed like death over a still living relationship, waiting for the right moment, that moment when it would show itself and spring into action, that moment when it would take her heart.

Of course, that was the last thing that he wanted his love to be; Some buzzard waiting in the lurch for just the right circumstance. No, he wanted his love to be inspirational, uplifting, engaging, and enticing. he wanted his love to be a soft ember warming her heart. He wanted his love to send a soft scent on the breeze that would draw his honey bee nearer, and then draw her back time and time again.

Instead he felt as if he were screaming at her, shaking her violently. "LOVE ME!" More shaking "LOVE ME NOW!" and that afforded no measurable success. No one wanted to be forced to love, no one COULD be forced to love, and no one could be MADE to love you just that "right way". Love is a taught thing. Love is a learned thing.

He had learned that love was tangeable to her. Letters were just paper. Paper was dumped in the trash or dropped in the bottom of some forgotten box. The love letters she wanted were each a letter to a task; Lawn mowed - CHECK, Oven cleaned - CHECK, Vacuuming done - CHECK, Emptied dishwasher - CHECK.

The more tasks he completed the more love she would give. At least that was the theory. Reality is always at odds with theories.

The reality is that love is more complicated and more subtle. Love can't be doled out based on the number of items checked off a list. It can't be measured in effort spent or quantified by time on task.

So while he was busy checking off tasks and then looking for some reciprocal sign that she loved him, attempting to quantify the unquantifiable, she was secretly and quietly loving him. She loved him while he napped. She loved him while she did his laundry. She loved him while she waited long nights for him to come home from work. She loved him by listening to things she had no interest in. She loved him through every rant and gripe. She loved him through every demand. And she loved him even when he didn't see it.

Hers was the love that was a warming ember. Hers was the love that drew him back time and time again. Her love letters to him were written across her body. She bore the love letters of five children across her waste line. She bore the love letters of hard work in her bones and joints and calloused fingers. She bore the love letters of happiness in the subtle laugh lines on her beautiful face. Each day she continued on was a letter of love, each smile held in it new promise, each moment had an infinite potential for new wonders and new pleasures.

Despite this, each day he looked for a breakthrough. Each day he looked for a sign. Each day he pined for a letter and each day he got none. Yet each day he was still loved more than the day before. So for now, and for every day forward, until his rapacious looming love releases its transfixed gaze, he will pine for what he is already receiving - everlasting and ever present love.