By Andrew Pacutho, Uganda:
So you know the letters I have been sending you? One of my colleagues at work landed on the copies I keep on my laptop while I was away.
When I returned he told me that I had a very idealistic view of what love is and I need to come back down to earth and be real.
In a way, when our kids read my handiwork or perhaps when our civilisation has faded away and some rusty old archaeologist lands on your well preserved letters he shall wonder and muse at the kind of love expressed.
Life as we know it does a lot to crush the spirit of love. The hot fires of tempers and the harsh weather of survival leave very little room for it to blossom. Disappointment and heart break shatter its casing, leaving all the gooey lovey-dovey goodness to sip out.
But I must refrain from hanging onto life's massive displeasures and instead cling to love's little pleasures. I find that it's in holding onto what's true and pure that a little meaning and hope remain in this world.
So what if it seems flowery, I believe in that sort of love and I have sworn to expend myself in the pursuit of that love and the sharing of it. If at worst let my wife and daughters know that in the castle that is their home, sits an old king, who loves them dearly and that that love is nothing that the world can take from them.
So, some willingly walk into the quagmire that is unreturned love and live there ever suspicious of any light that real love may shine. They revel in the few times a light shines in that darkness but they can never truly be happy because they half expect it to end, or that this shall be another illusion, another heart break and another disappointment.
But you know what, the love I have for you, that I am growing, slowly but surely nurturing is the love that loves inspite of pain, heart break or hurt but one that stands ever fixed and pure. You know this more than anyone for our journey to this place was fraught with many many valleys and dark places, but when you still your heart and hold onto that love that brought you through, you find happiness.
Allow me my love to borrow the words of one who has gone before:
Admit impediments. Love is not love
which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
P.S. I Love You
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