I took a photo a few weeks ago.
It was a photo of a small flower. It was beautiful and ambitious, but so small and so fragile. Like all living things, it was growing. Growing stronger, more stable, and more beautiful. But I was afraid for this flower.
It would only take one unaware deer's clumsy hoof to kill it. Or maybe a lover that would tear it from the ground and present it to his love, with no thought for the finality of his actions. A single critter could eat it alive in the fight for it's own survival. One stray fallen leaf could cut it off from the sunlight. A thousand other things could kill it before it ever blossomed into it's real potential.
Yet there it was, ambitious as ever.
Blissfully, maybe arrogantly, unaware of all the dangers that surrounded it. Maybe it had no idea that it was in death's eye. Or maybe it knew each danger and persevered anyway. Because what other choice is there?
I don't know it's motivation, but there it was, growing in the face of danger.
And I don't know if the flower is the noble hero to aspire to, or the fool in a cautionary tale of aspiration and denial.
That is what it feels like to chase love.
Pizza enthusiast but pineapple nonbeliever. Intellectually aspirational but emotionally unpredictable. Usually happy but sometimes sad.
Going after God.