Was it a missed opportunity?

 I recently read a date suggestion from someone. 

The suggestion was to gift your favorite book (with your phone number in it) to someone you have a crush on. 
If they don't phone you - it's okay, they probably don't read and you don't need that kind of energy in your life anyway. 
If they do phone you - you can share a "book club" date where you meet up somewhere and have a book to discuss (instead of trying to make up interesting conversation). 

While I read this suggestion, and as much as I sincerely like it, it reminded me that, years ago, I received a really nice hardcover copy of Frankenstein, A Modern Prometheus from a male friend of mine as a gift. I promise that I started reading it, but in the middle of reading it (started off a bit whiny), I was in the process of moving houses and to this day I haven't finished it and I have no idea what happened to that copy. I hope he didn't put his number in it. 

A few things: 

1 - I promise I AM literate. (Whether you want that in your life, or not, is not on me. Just facts.)
2 - I promise I did start to read it. (It was a man writing a series of boring letters.)
3 - I promise I never got to a page with his phone number on it. (Doesn't mean it wasn't there though.) 
4 - I promise I thought he was interesting and kind
5 - I promise I'd have gone on that book club date. 

Now I'm just left wondering, was this a thing he was trying to do? Score a date where we could talk about Frankenstein? Because I'd have been okay with a date like that. Shoot - we'd already gone bowling together! 

Oh well, he's been married with kids for a while now. 
I'm such a mess. I am a walking disaster area. 
Oh well, at least I'm cute. 

Love Musings at 4 AM on a random Tuesday morning

 They say that love is a verb. That it is dynamic, and active, and kinetic. 

They also say that grief is not actually sorrow. They say that it is just a different expression of love. I suppose that makes sense. 

But, to me, grief feels more like not being able to express love anymore for sudden lack of a receiving end. Grief doesn't feel like love, the verb - but it doesn't feel unlike it either. 

To me, grief is the abrupt stymying of the action that love is. It is the desire to act in regard to a subject - when the subject has vanished - and the act can no longer be. Where love moves, grief is still.  

Love fills and refills and tops off to overflowing. 
Grief drips and drains and wilts and exhausts past the point of dregs. 

It is not two faces of the same coin to me. 
Grief is far more valuable. Lessons are learned in the stillness of grief. 
Far less is learned in love. 

Love is doing what we already know how to do for someone we desire to do it for. 
Grief forces us to sit with what we've already completed - and know we've finished, we're done with that part, we can do no more... even if we greatly desire to continue to do more.

If love is kinetic energy, grief seems more like potential energy.
Potential energy waiting on another catalyst to set it in motion again.