I sit in the waiting room. Waiting for him; my beloved.
I wonder about this word, so I decide to look it up. I look up its origins: late Middle English: past participle of obsolete belove ‘be pleasing’ and later 'love'. Interesting.
We know it means love, dear, dearest, most loved.
John, in his epistles, addresses his disciples as 'beloved'. Jesus Christ is the beloved son of God.
To me, it is a word with deeper meaning than love. It describes a love that is of the soul; of someone who is a part of me. Someone who I'd sacrifice for, die for. That person is my beloved.
That person is my husband. he that is all to me; beloved. he is mine and I am his, now and always.
I think of these things because not to, is to lose what we share. I think of them because love needs tending, as does a garden.
Ignoring love will cause it to wither and die as surely as not watering the garden will kill it.
- 13
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