thoughts ≠ sx

romanticized

i think falling in love is the easiest thing to occur in the timeline of someone's life.

love is a thing that occurs almost naturally- a figment of undistinguishable movements that can not be tracked into sign language that the other person simply understands. it is undefinable and positively the most frustrating prospect ever: because how could some other human possibly become aware of the layers and crooks of my brain?

well..the key thing is that.. they don't.

they simply understand the precise communicating tools in a way that fate has given them, and it translates into almost undying affection: we are so afraid of the unknown, and having someone who could read our personality like a book is refreshing.

and i am a sucker for optimistic endings, but the brutal reality is miscommunications occur. we know from our experiences in our native tongues that two languages often sound the same, share similarities. a person could open your book and read the first two chapters flawlessly because of cognates and synonyms and lying, and then struggle to an abrupt stop on the third chapter- the third week, the third month, the third year.

and we are left holding our book full of mysterious hieroglyphics in the figurative rain that surrounds us and chokes us like a thickening cloud, a phenomenon only described by the word heartbreak, which is an understatement at its finest, it deserves a million words, some soundless and backed by sobs, some protected by layers of broken trust and punched-through walls.  

and then another person comes by, another almost-lover, who reads to the first page and stops, and you grapple on and convince yourself that this is the one- no matter if they stumble reading the second page or even mess up a few words: mistakes are mistakes, but mistakes become a pattern after an uncountable number.

and then the third comes along, and you turn away with an upturned nose and refuse to let them even open your book, instead clutch it to our hearts and guard it like a treasure, no matter any ecclesiastical belief of love ending in perfect fairytales.

but the third one refuses to take no for an answer, reads the first page of your book without you knowing, without you letting them, reads your heartbreak and faults and damages and suddenly has the right words to say, and they get through two and three and four and keep on going, no matter the small stutters or the small dots of the 'i's being smudged or the periods unreadable, and then, then you have found your one true love.

no ordinary language is the language of love.

the language of love is a dance, a practice, a little bow of fate smiling down on her creations that build the structure of the world, a complicated process with dusty shudders and a little bit of a faulty system, but hey- nothing is ever perfect.

maybe love is romanticized, but falling and the language of love could never be.

[]

dedicated to colleencosette because her writing is flawless and i strive to sound as eloquent as her.

"if i could fly"
-sx