Wrong kind of love

Laying back in the bed this morning from a night of drinks, sushi and spectating men watching as they make advances at women like hungry wolfs I scroll down my news feed to catch a clip from Steve Harvey’s show. In this particular show his wife and children reminisced about exceptional times they shared with there father. As they illustrated what seem to me as the perfect characterization of what a father figure is I began to cry, although I have managed to grow into a extraordinary young women against all the odds it is clear to me now more than ever the misunderstanding I have when it comes to the opposite sex and sometimes have fallen for the wolf in sheep’s clothing is because I expect to find my dad. I don’t share as hardy of a relationship with my father as I would like, and rendering this unfortunate realization I have learned to love my father regardless of his absence or his inhabitancy to make me daddy’s little girl.

Learning to let go…let God…and trust the process I know the development of this has made me a durable women and for that I am thankful. Although I may never have a “Steve Harvey” relationship with my father I trust the universe to bring me the right kind of love and it’s divine timing.

Until next time.


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