There are many instances to tell love stories. Some are grand and dreamy, others are humbling in their expanse…regardless, I think most love stories exist between the crook and cranny of the ordinary, in the daily to-do-lists and mundane 9-to-5s. Most of all, they exist in the repetition of a strong understanding that love is never just a noun, but will always be a conscious and walking verb.
There is no great start, you see, to things worthwhile. They creep and silently edge closer to the perimeter of your existing life. Hopefully they will be able to successfully sneak in undiscovered until one day, the surprise comes in, you are forever changed. This is how love happened in my life. One day you are independent and gung-ho about the beauty of singularity and the next, you find yourself with the ability to squeeze another person into your heart (which, I might add, already has quite a few others). It starts subtly. You learn the turn of his hand, how he brushes his hair away from his eyes, his laughter and weird sense of humour, how he picks his food and refuses to give way to something you deem insignificant. Even without realising it, your body begins to mould itself to his – you two fit when you walk, sit, eat and lie in bed.
There is this easy tenderness between two people who love each other. There is also team work. And if this means he has to periodically visit an art gallery which absolutely holds no meaning to him, or that I have to sit through moments or hours of silence (well, usually I am already sleeping) as he plays his game – we will do it. Because love is never about what I want, or what he wants but what we both want for and from each other. Without this partnership or sacrifice to reach that balance, love – will never grow.
Alas, I am but a 23 year old fledgling with a lot more to learn from older and seasoned couples. I would like to believe though, that this time round, this is it. No matter how silly or idealistic I sound, in my heart, you are it. You are Love.