Feelings are crazy, you see. I’d like to get a better insight into them someday, although I don’t think that’s ever going to be possible. They’re too deep, too entwined in between each other sometimes, and they might be better left blurry, somehow.
Sometimes, I feel I fall in love everyday. Because I believe love is not a word that should be used for people only, that is for family members, or friends, or your chosen one.
Sometimes, in fact, I feel I fall in love with places, moments, atmospheres, objects, smells, tastes. Sometimes, they’re only things I like; but if I add passion to this feeling, instead of using sensibility, when I can’t possibly do without them, I wonder. I feel I truly am in love.
I feel that’s the meaning of love: when one loves something or someone excessively or unreasonably; too much, too fast, hastily, too deep, too often, with too much curiosity, and unthinkingly.
It happens to me, sometimes. I fall in love with chocolate, that you can only and truly taste at the first bite; with the sound cats make when they’re purring; or when the sky shows a whole range of blues in the evening; with the cold that comes at the end of summer when leaves turn orange and yellow. I fall for the smell of freshly baked bread; for the smile of kids when they’re playing impatiently in the queue at the supermarket; for the sound of silence, that you can oh hardly ever hear.
Love — this feeling we make complicated when the only thing we should do is listen to it. This feeling we try oh so many times to explain with words, when it should be left a feeling and a feeling only. This thing that makes us run unbelievable fast, sing out loud on the street, burst out laughing for no apparent reason; this thing that gives us this special energy we need to use before exploding.
Call me naive, weird, oversensitive, cheesy or other ugly words human beings created to make themselves believe we had to be down-to-earth and identical people; but what about embracing what’s within?