Maybe, at least in our hearts, we are all hopeless romantics – or maybe it’s just me – but I’m really okay with that when I really think about it. It could be that I’m overly optimistic, or maybe it’s just because I believe in fate and the basic principle that everybody was put on this Earth to make a difference in somebody else’s life. I’m not saying that I’m certain, but I’m telling you what I believe. It’s not like undying optimism has ever killed anyone, well maybe that’s not true, but I bet an optimist dies with a much better outlook than a pessimist. It seems to be everywhere though, this idea of love. I see it in people’s eyes, the way they look, the way they talk and maybe how they walk. Someone who is in love – or who thinks they’re in love – they act differently, they think differently, they’re different than somebody who has never felt that way. We may fall in and out of love, or maybe not, maybe it’s just that we forget what we love about someone else and have the once soft and compassionate emotions become destroyed by bitter dislike and unbridled disdain that seems to seep from our pores, but love still does not fade, it is only forgotten, like a dusty high school yearbook left in the attic until it is discovered years later by a curious child.
As I sat waiting for my train back home from school to see the one’s who I love most, I saw the many different faces that love is casually disguised as. I saw teen love. I saw the look in a woman’s eyes as she smiled broadly while talking on the phone to someone that she certainly loved in someway. Her hazel eyes radiating this sense of hope and cheerful bliss that stuck in my memory like honey on a young child’s fingers. She had a sense of purpose, a sense of rightness, she had something to come home to. Although the world could have been crumbling down on her at this very moment, this short amount of the time on the phone with a lover graced her with a momentary reprieve from everything else. She began to take on the look of a love struck teenager. Her free hand made her way up to her hair and, shortly thereafter, she began to twirl her hair around her finger – winding gently, and then releasing her hold in a way that allowed her hair to carelessly fall across the smile painted on her face.
And then I saw the most beautiful kind of love there is. The love that has had the time to ferment. Love aged like a fine wine. Love that has been tested, beaten and battered over the course of decades but has still had the power, dare I say the courage, to persevere. This is the love that is not based on uncontrolled lust, but rather mutual understanding and respect for one another. Quiet, unspoken affection that was bred in earlier days that are now at the heart of thoughtful nostalgic reminiscing. It is casual love. More like that of best friends rather than actual lovers, but in their quiet casual talk, the way that their eyes patiently and passionately rest upon each other, I could feel the love. With each word, with each moment of eye contact, they still see the eyes of a lover who is still there despite the fact that time has weathered away their once strong, young features. It is in these people that I have made the discovery that love exists. Not just love, but true love. It is not just a Disney love story, but a non-fiction story better than any love story manufactured by a commercial entity that is aimed on promoting a fake ideology of what love should be.
Love could be anything. And sometimes it hurts. And sometimes it doesn’t. And sometimes love needs work. And sometimes it is beyond repair. But for what it is worth, most of the time love is elegant; a perfectly tailored suit, a beautiful ballroom gown. It is tasteful and it is emblazoned with joyfulness.
But when it isn’t, it is hard. As college students, high school students, young adults and even for a larger majority of adults, breakups occur, and they are never easy. Circumstances change the once flower filled fields of love and replace them with a field of weeds. The warm embraces that at one time you never wanted to release grow cold and hurried. Things change and so do people, and as a result, love r
It is never easy to say goodbye to love that was once so heated and filled with the benefits that love has to offer, but after the early feelings of withdrawal are forgotten, it is easy to adapt to life again without the person who once held such an important part of your heart. Before you know it, your will heart will be awoken by the early fiery passion of new love. When you say goodbye to an older lover, you open up your heart to the love that you were destined to hold there. Old loves tell us what we need in a relationship and they also tell us what we do not need. It leaves us with scars, but then again, smooth seas have never made skilled sailors. I’m still young, and I know very little about the true inner workings of love, but I do know one thing: it is living.
It breathes through our eyes, talks through our souls and bleeds from our hearts. It passes like the scenery outside the window of a moving train. Each love leaves snapshots in our minds of memories that we will never forget and memories that we wish would just vanish into the depth of our thoughts. Love is cruel, but it also is kind. It is tolerant, but is also selfish. It makes us find in us the best things about ourselves, but also makes us discover our own worst features. Love is the perfect embodiment of what it means to truly be living; to live for someone or something other than yourself.