What is love?
It is currently 2:02am when I started writing this, and of course thy brain is buzzing and thy girl cannot sleep. Late nights, early mornings either way my mind cannot make up its mind?
What is love?
Wow, cliche, you’re up late, laying in bed, asking yourself one of the worlds most complicated yet simple questions.
And yet you still can’t agree with an answer…
I constantly find myself asking this question, not in a desperate way, not in a joking way, just in a way that may describe purity, inner bliss, a way where I can shut my eyes, press my lips together, take a deep breathe, and as soon as I gulp in that new, fresh, breathe of air, I open my eyes and blink into the thought of
“Yes. That’s it.”
Does romance still exist? Or am I stuck looking at my phone? Imagining this concept, this thought, this idea, a fictional story I see in films, hear in songs, imagine in my dreams, this unique person I’ve never met?
Let’s pretend romance is a 20 year old man named Patrick…(just stick with me here)
Patrick actually comes up to you randomly out of no where, simply compliments you, simply smiles, is a nice person, you’re not concerned he’s a murder, you’re sweet.
Patrick offers to help you with your groceries, when you and Patrick get to the aisle to pay he whips out his hand and stops you from tapping that credit card, instead tapping his own.
Patrick maybe meets you while you’re grabbing a coffee and you cross the road to try get back to your car, Patrick follows you, he calls your name since barista boy got it a few minutes ago for your coffee, you turn around slightly confused, and concerned as a stranger slowly follows you to your car.
Patrick offers you a chocolate croissant to go with your coffee, he bought it just for you, a stranger who completely dosen’t know, the only thing he knows is your name, and the fact that you’re beautiful.
Patrick’s asks about your dreams, aspirations, passions, what makes you happy, your best moment of the week, or patrick sits there in silence with you, and it feels natural, you like the silence, and mostly his comfort.
Patrick may be the opposite to you, or he’s a complete ass, who makes any sarcastic comment he can in the nicest way possible making you piss your pants or wanting to slap him across the face, but still crave his presence?
Where are the days I hear about romance? Like real romance. Not this tinder, she said he said, oh I’ve been left on read again, nah it was just casual, nothing serious, it dosen’t matter.
It does matter.
In the end we are humans, we have emotions, something matters a little or bit or a lot, it always somehow matters. A small percentage in your heart clicks with the voice in your head and it tells you, “Hey, sweetie, you care, stop lying to yourself”.
I’m going to go a little back in the days here now, *ugh*
but actually back in the days…
In all seriousness, my grandma and I are quite close, I often find myself asking her many questions that seem simple and boring to her, but to me it’s like opening a piece of the past and putting it in my hand to hold onto that certain moment where I hear a real idea of what love should be but unfortunately isn’t something I hear off or see today.
She tells me stories, memories, jokes, ones I vividly imagine, these stories about her secret lovers, when a specific military captain used to write her letters for over three years.
Sounds completely made up, and almost impossible ? Right ?
Sounds like I’m writing up possible ideas for a love movie that even the notebook wouldn’t have.
But this was true, and I sat there that one day at the beach with her and just remember her face, that face, like she was rekindling what an actual romantic moment would’ve been like for her all over again.
Here I sit, with not merely as a story, it’s not everyday a young girl who was born in a tiny country in Europe escapes into isolated farms, lakes in the outskirts of their villages, coiled in each other’s arms just too see each other and have nobody know their together, just each other.
No hidden signals, no complications, just pure and honest moments, beautiful memories, moments where I could truly listen and mesmerise my grandmas stories, like she mesmerised those exact moments.
The way she spoke of them, her crystal blue eyes, enlightened as the memory flooded back through her body, every bone, as though the sensation of that evening or day was still there, as though she was by the lake again with her lover, her smile widening, the wrinkles on her forehead smiling in conjunction, her blue eyes, smiling the most.
I was always told by a wise person, you can smile, but nothing is beautiful and pure as smiling with your eyes. And I think love is no more beautiful and pure as my grandma describes it, especially the way her eyes described it.
Young, reckless, naive? I don’t know, I may not know what exactly love is, but I know it is meant to be special, this long lasting bond that captures a person in the most charmful yet persuasive way, without thought or process, that “I know it” feeling, no need for reasoning, no need for justification, it’s just this baby flower that soon blooms into a beautiful red rose, shining amongst the green leaves, overwhelmed with happiness as the sunlight has allowed it to grow into this beautiful organism.
That is love.
And I am saddened to be writing here now at 2:30am disappointed if pure love still exists, will we all find our perfect definition of love, will it ever come around, will we ever come across our beautiful sunlight, that will allow us to grow and blossom even more in the world, I hope so, but for now I can only hold onto the memories of the love my grandma speaks of and hope that one day myself and all of us will receive it in our own little perfect way.
Hope you enjoyed what my mind was thinking in this exact moment
These are my late night thoughts…