To Speak Love in Your Language

How strangely we talk, my dear.


Each doing, as fully as we can, exactly what we want to receive. Each waiting vainly for that to be reciprocated. We give; why no return? We speak, but we cannot hear.


And the other, in being given to fully, receives very little. I bring you a list when you come home - see, here are all the things I got done today. Wasn't I so productive?


You are not thrilled. You never wanted me to be productive. No, it is I who want you to give me the list at the end of the day - see, here are all the things I got done.


How poorly I speak that to you. How silly I am. To give you what I want, what you won't appreciate, and wonder why you can't hear.




We speak different languages. You want alone time, I want your company. You want me to relax, I want you to get things done. I don't fully appreciate those ways you love me - in your way - in the way you need to be loved.


How backwards it is.


I need to learn how you speak. And stop speaking to you in my language, but in yours.



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