Did It Hurt When You Fell From Heaven?
The sweet agony called love and how it actually works (well, at least from my point of view)
It doesn't start from the heart, as you would think. The heart doesn't have eyes, and so, it doesn't get to choose what tickles its fancy. The mind pretty much does all the work and screws your life up. It fixates on one particular thought and when that thought meets its instrument, here we go. It scares you at first because you have no idea what the hell is happening or what the hell you're doing, but there you are, staring at a flesh-and-blood, living, breathing object with a pulse, and yours just shifts a few gears farther. That's when the heart takes the lead role – the stupid idiot decides you are attracted to this person for some unknown reason. Suddenly, pizza doesn't look so tempting, lying in bed looking at the ceiling becomes sooo interesting, and concentrating on anything else other than your chickflick-like crush, seems like mission impossible.
The creepy, unexplainable, and uncontrollable thing is, you wanna know every single thing about them. You wanna know their favourite colour, favourite food, TV show, coffee shop; whether they sleep on the left or the right hip (or maybe on their back), with their arms folded over their chest or maybe not; are they a dog or a cat person; does their eye colour match the sky or do you have to look for something else to compare them to; how big is their smile, how charming, how blinding is it. And this grows only from the staring level, one you'd probably get a restraining order for, but you still do it. You maybe even lick your lips a few times in the process, not that that makes you crazy. Definitely not.
You're also sort of convicted to the locations you constantly see this person at. Have you gone out to that coffee shop before? Well, you might as well start now. Have you hated taking the bus to a certain destination before? It's not that bad now, is it? Oh, and why take the shortcut and get home faster, when you can double the time and appreciate the complex your love interest seems to be staying at. Now you're at the 'this is getting boring, I want to talk' level. Because feeding your eyes on the appearance that is the god/dess standing before you just isn't enough.
You want to meet this person. You want to know if the contents of the book are as good and attractive as the cover. You want to know if your daydreams will be crushed, and if your heart will ever go back to its old self. This can go two ways – either the person that seems like an angel that has fallen from heaven is a complete and utter disaster (this is where you doubt God's talent), or the angel is truly what he is, a gold medal winning, book material, mindgasm kind of character.
In the best scenario their words are like poetry – written or said – it doesn't matter to you, as long as they are pointed toward you and only you. Watch for the syndrome of blindness, though. Words, just as well as drugs, can make certain things unable to be seen and you'll kill yourself before you even started.
Then you're at the level 'is it mutual? oh God, I hope it's mutual'. You never thought before in your life how much influence this word will have in your life. And you have no idea how much fear can this word carve into your bones. Bloody hell, you even spend the nights, wide awake, sweating like crazy, hands cold as ice, asking yourself, is it... mutual? Does their heart race at the same pace, do their hands sweat, are they sleepless and unsettled and in general, very lovesick?
Mainly because stuff like Romeo and Juliet don't usually happen in this universe. You're not Cinderella and he's not Prince Charming, you're not a frog and she's not a Princess. But hey, do correct me if I'm wrong, there are seven billion people in this world and at least some of them have experienced a fairytale kind of feeling, one I quit believing in by the time I realized I hadn't seen anything like that with my own two eyes.
Because somewhere along the ride that is called life, no matter how long it took you, you stumbled upon the page that says 'Happily Ever After'. Your heart is lighter than a feather and suddenly, it doesn't matter that you spilled your coffee all over your favorite shirt this morning, or that the cereal are too soggy, or that your favorite TV show character just died a horrible death. Your head is in the bloody clouds, and you, unlike your old self, don't give a single damn about anything but the chemistry you just shared with your love interest.
Now, four magic words. I am in love. You are in love. He/She is in love. But of course, like cooking, waiting for a bad texter to respond, or the commercials to end, this takes time, and at this point you have two types of people: the ones that are terrified of admitting they're smitten, and the ones that are in fact 'I love you' sluts. Trust me, you don't know which one is worse.
You probably would wanna wait for the other person to admit their love for you, but, if they are to follow the same rule, you might just end up in a cycle that will probably never end with action intended. Better just say when you feel like you don't want to let this person go, when you look at them it feels like the whole world disappears, when it feels like you want to hold their hand and never let go. When the space around your heart tightens and you find yourself unable to draw a single breath when they smile. When you realize they deserve all that means happiness and beauty in the world. When you realize you do in fact love them.
Call me a cheeseball, but nowadays, love has been so underappreciated. People throw it around like it's nothing, as if they actually love everyone, as if everyone makes them happy. You might find yourself having so much love in your heart you can't handle the weight, but you really should keep it to yourself, because sometimes we give so much love to others, we forget to love ourselves. It might be just a word, but it changes people and situations and lives, so cherish it and use it the right way at the right time.
This story is courtesy of Bihac Calling.