For as long as I can remember, I’ve heard stories of people falling in love, falling out of it, dreaming of past lovers and dreaming up new ones… I was however never told what it’d be like to just…not.
A friend just got engaged, two just got married, three had kids, one’s thinking of divorce, and oh, look! a show on first loves! World, swallow me whole. I had always thought that by now my heart would have had it all figured out, memorized the steps to the dance of love, trained my tummy’s butterflies to flutter all the more magically to the music of “el amor” – well, for one, I detest butterflies (yes,really). Secondly, my heart seems to only jump at the sight of cheese or melted chocolate, which, let’s be honest, one would agree isn’t so bad. Unfortunately, at 25, I find it hard to swallow that love lost its way while on its perilous journey to me, a perfectly cushioned and warm landing area. Where art thou my lover? Where is thy brave heart, thy brain and thy tight grasp? Probably stuck in a 1950s Hollywood picture or about to be devoured by a lion somewhere wild and beautiful. They tell you stories about love, its soothing presence, its despairing disappearance, but they rarely approach the puzzling land of its absence; you simply can’t complain about things you do not know and you certainly can’t perceive the complexity of what you have no experience of. I have dreamt and I have sighed at the sight of couples holding hands, men listening to their wives’ bulging tummies as new life blossoms inside, written a thousand poems and sung hundreds of songs, but to no avail; the dream remains a dream, and that, only life and time can truly heal.
One would want to believe it’s futile to fantasize about love and what it could bring, but if in my short life I’ve learnt one thing, it’s that love is the purest melody our hearts can sing.