i'm not too particular about many things.
i don't require clothes from a certain store, a specific brand of shampoo, or my furniture arranged just so.
it doesn't matter if i put my left shoe on before my right, or if i brush my teeth before my hair.
and if you ask me for my opinion, i'll generally tell you it doesn't matter...
because it doesn't bother me one way or the other.
if i had a preference, i'd tell you. but i generally don't.
i'm just not too particular about very many things.
just my wine.
my confidantes.
and my flowers.
it's just... life is too short to go around being unhappy if things aren't just so.
you've gotta be selective when it comes to what you're going to be picky about.
for some folks, it's their clothes.
for others, it's their leisure activities, their houses, shoes, sports teams,
food, jobs, reading material, wrapping paper preferences, movies...
but there isn't enough time to be overly selective about EVERYTHING.
so for me, it's
my wine.
my confidantes.
and my flowers.
i like my wine with supper. or during a sunset. paired with good conversation.
preferably somewhat crisp - so that the taste lingers for a few seconds,
but then slowly slips away with a few creaks of the rocking chair.
i like my confidantes feisty, with guarded and selective hearts -
so i know that when i've earned their trust, they've earned mine.
and i like my flowers wild.
caressed by an early morning breeze and kissed by the sunrise.
perspiring with evening dew and tickled by lightning bugs' feet.
unruly and unmanageable.
beautifully untamed.
undeniably simple and yet mesmerizing in their complexity.
they can be on the side of the road or in a mason jar,
but either way, i like them wild.
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