When the wind blows
In high school, I was a vibrant and excited romantic. I had read all the Princess Diaries. I was a Meg Cabot fan. I had read all Judy Blume. Danielle Steel. So I was bound to tell everyone that I had used the L word and that this time round- I was in love.
I had multiple online flings, silly heartbreaks and countless books on the sole genre of romance. I knew I was an expert and that I could immediately know if he was the one or if he was my soul-soulmate.
I was wrong.
They say it takes you that maximum crash down the valley to finally realise that a cloud of pride shielded your eyes from the truth? Yes, it happend.
Here I am.
I was wrong.
So I took a one year break to reflect and realised that all too fast I was developing feelings again. And that I had forgotten the mess I came up from.
I suppressed it. I never told anyone. But eventually I did.
And then again. Feelings came.
And then today under the brilliant, star-lit shower I finally see that I'm just a hot-blooded irrational romantic who happens to jump into the basket before I count the eggs?
I recognise that actually love is a complicated universe. of sorts. or not.
I recognise that maybe I don't even have an answer to how a single touch will make me not do anything an entire afternoon.
or how it takes just a single word to change my mood?
Will I ever get it?
But I do comprehend that love is practice. It's practice for gentle, kind and patient. It's practice for selfless, good and soft.
And it definitely is loving.
I also do understand that I will get the script wrong sometimes. But what actually counts is how many times I forget about the silly words I uttered that time and just live in the moment.
And just be love.
Maybe I will twinkle at a 1000 touches.
they'll be the final
So patience pays.
Image from Google images.