My mother really loves pansies. At least I think she still does. As long as I’ve known her she has loved them. But I sometimes feel this need to check in with people and ask if they’re still into something, to make sure I didn’t misunderstand a passing trend or phase as a deep and eternal love. Because when I picture all the pansy-related gifts my mom has likely received from me alone over the years I think, wow, if she doesn’t actually like them anymore… that is a lot of pansy paraphernalia.
And if the origin of this love is uncertain, it may bring to mind a sort of chicken/egg question: What came first? The initial, perhaps inherent love of a thing or the earliest gift from the child? We children may never know. But I bet my mom still loves pansies. I mean, who wouldn’t; they’re pansies. But what’s more, even if she didn’t, she’d never say, because she loves her kids and has loved every gift they’ve given her, no matter the kind or how repetitive.
Mom, happy birthday. I sent you a pansy card because I can’t not. Thanks for being vocal about so many things you love so we can always think of you when we see them.
This one’s for you:
Once you say you love a thing
People might give you that thing
Again and again and again
And you can stop loving it
But they might keep giving it
And maybe you let them
Because maybe you know
Letting them love you
Is better than the thing
You loved.
Love this. Such a sweet poem too. 💓🌸