You are the oldest of all feelings. You began the moment the earth was created. As the stars always looked at eachother bright and so so beautiful but so far from eachother. Never able to touch one another.
Or perhaps you began with unrequited love of the ocean and sand. No matter how much time passes the ocean never stops, it allows itself to be pushed away from the sand only to be pushed away again tommorow.
Or perhaps you began in Shakespeare plays. Two teenagers so confused and so lonely find eachother and find themselves too late. Too late to be together, they find themselves pulled apart by unnecessary forces.
Or perhaps you never truly began. Maybe you were always just there. In the winks between amongst the stars, the stolen kisses between the ocean and the shore and the tears of Juliet and almost betrothed Romeo.
Maybe your always there hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to be. But who could know love, but love itself?
We envision love as this great entity, power between time and space but maybe love is not that.
Perhaps love is when my dad saves up all his change and buys soup for my mom.
Perhaps love is a kiss before work or a tap on the shoulder, or a gaze amongst people.
Perhaps love is my grandparents, two people so scarred and beaten by love almost too scared to try but brave nonetheless. Taking in their families and making one.
So is love grand gestures, small moments or pieces of a broken whole painted and carved to make something new?
Or maybe I'm entirely wrong, and love is just not one thing.
Perhaps love is the moment out atoms found themselves so close to eachother but never in reach.
Perhaps love is seeing him in every song I sing.
Perhaps love is in our childhood, stolen glances, laughs among people from inside jokes.
Perhaps love is feeling safe in arms that aren't mine.
Perhaps he is love.
Perhaps I love him in ever way possible.
So often I've been finding myself using love as an acceptable word. Sometimes it feels too large, I will never be able to feel the pull that the ocean feels toward the shore. But I do I am in love with a force that I can never have because the world was just not made for those things to intertwine. And sometimes it feels to small, stolen glance and inside jokes are so much more if that is love.
But teenage love is like no other, too big for my small wide-eyed soul to carry and sometimes too small full of too many possibilities.
Sincerely,
A water droplet that finally stayed with the sand.
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Dear...
אקראיI will try to write a letter every month. Each letter about something different addressed to someone different, and signed by a different part of me. Some will be heartfelt and uplifting, others snarky and sarcastic. Some sad and others mad. There...
