Loving a living being is an act of subtlety. It's like watering a plant - a little every day.┬а
My father loves gardening. He raised a guava tree in my garden. It took time and constant, albeit fractioned, attention. Not all of his attention was there but he kept looking out for the plant. He kept nurturing it for weeks. When away, he would ask my mom to water the plant.
Finally, when the tree bore fruits, when I had my first guava, the feeling I had could be best described as innocuous. I was mindlessly slurping through it. Then I had another one, and another. It wasn't surreal or magnetic, but innocuous, despite the time it had taken to bear fruits.
That's what love is. Innocuous. You don't feel the magnanimity. You feel the subtlety.
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