Hues of Love

Pale Pink

PALE PINK

Love began with naivety. Marya was a baby and love was everywhere she turned. They loved her face, her baby cheek fat, her wispy hair growing in. None of it was for anything Marya was, but all that was superficially bestowed upon her by her lucky genes. It wasn't even love for Marya, it was love for babies.

Love from her parents was just as naive. Marya had been born from a shallow kiss and warm bodies, what other type of love could it be then? She was only a symbol of their connection, of their love. Any love they had for her came from whatever love they had for each other and for babies. So that was how Marya was born.

Adoring love grew as Marya aged to little fingers, crawling on the floor, and gooey diapers. Marya was loved for her cuteness, the plump cheeks, the suggestions of teeth, the "daadaa". It was closer to real love, if such a thing exists. But there were also inexplicable times when they did not love her - when her crying became the source of raised voices and sore eyes. Of course, Marya couldn't be blamed. She didn't understand what was happening nor did she have any control of when her floodgates opened.

And Marya's love was just that of children's for their parents - obligatory for the ones who kept her alive.