Weird how it works.
Life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.
Life gives you roses. You smell the roses.
The roses die and they smell like shit and you have to pick up the petals.
That's real life. Roses.
Life is beautiful. It turns ugly, dies on ya, pieces of it die, fall off, stink, you pick those pieces up, throw 'em away, remember that smell which is bittersweet, and move on.
Fuck those lemons. They just grow moldy and rot. That's not life. That's death. You forget those parts.
Life is a Rose. If you don't like roses, life is a Petunia, or a dandelion. Whatever your choice might be.
For me, I'd love to look at life as being a rose. I look at my wonderful wife, my soulshine, my yin to my yang as my rose. As a matter of being, her surname, Roesner, means Rose. She is my Rose.
Leave it to me... yes, there is a yet... despite my soulmate being a Rose, the most beautiful flower, the most sought after bud.... don't let me go there,.... she is my epitome of perfection.
But, that's just me. And that's all I really care about. She's the woman that has shown mw unconditional love when no one else would. I still stand in unbelief somedays.
Consider this... my own children, now 22 and 19 years old refuse to accept me as I am. My ex-family excommuicated me when I became an embarassment to the family, even after over 20 years.
I will say this.. my ex-wife, who I have pursued previously, has mellowed and we have come to find a common ground. I wish her well. I really do. We started off well, we just ended bad. We maded good kids. They just don't know it. They also don't know they have a dad that loves them.
Enough of the emotional shit.
I don't like to tear up.
Kids are Rose petals. They fall off and smell like shit. You want to sweep them off the porch or the floor of the sunroom and forget them. But you can't forget how they made you feel when they first opened their buds and you smelled that aroma of spring.
My kids want nothing to do with me but the smell of a rose bloom reminds me of them. So does any blooming flower. Hell, if that makes me any less of a man, I'll take it.
I miss my kids, I'm disappointed in my kids. I love my kids.
But sometimes it's not easy loving those who don't love you.