If I had a dog I'd name her Beta.
It isn't just an adorable name--its a matter of fact, beta means many things but of those there is the one that speaks her name: a systematic risk.
Or so it says.
The only risk I could think of having Beta is the risk of falling too deeply in love with her and never wanting to let her go.
I'm sure she's wonderful, where ever she is right now.
Perhaps she hasn't even been born yet.
Perhaps she's searching for me just as restlessly as I am searching for her.
I wonder, is she quiet and reserved like my favorite poet? (M.O.)
Could she be reckless and bold and undeniably zealous, much like the outlandish and fuming girl of green gables I look up to so much? (A.S.)
Is she like a tempest of thought, a wave of pensive thinking and throbs? (W.W.)
All I think of when I turn to her--or at least the idea of her for now--is what on earth this sweet, adorable and vital creature is going to be to me for the rest of my life.
Does she even know that someday we'll be so lovely and gentle to eachother, we'll wonder where we've been all the time of existence, if not together.
I love Beta.
I do not even know her physically, but I do know she is there.
She is the idea of the love I've never known--the love of dependency, on me as much as on her.
If I never find her I wouldn't want to stop looking, even if I knew the moon was closer than she was to me.
I don't care about the facts, I don't care if it's a risk loving her--all I need is the comfort her nestled black body and chilly nose next to me brings. A small curled perfection cuddling with me sounds the closest thing to heaven right now.
All I need is to know something can love me just as effortlessly and devotedly as I do them.
That's all.
-k.p.b.
