Love is a sticky, sweet thing. And most days I find it in the crystalline strings of mundanity that neatly form a web around me. The same threads that bind me to my stupid little life. The life I am grateful for every single day.
On a perfectly uneventful evening, when nightfall comes chasing us down earlier than expected, I see how difficult it is to escape its gummy warmth. I stare out at the inky emptiness that is starless sky. The velvety sheet spread out before me, makes me want to reach out and grab. But all I get are fist-fulls of nothingness, filled with plenty of peace and calm.
A few days ago, on a night washed out, or as I called it, ruined by a sudden downpour, I felt it again. The dull murmur of the drizzle humming along incessantly, and with every unexpected breath of fresh air that wafted in speedily, my mellow surroundings stirred. I looked around and realised that the ruins that remained, were normal. Except they were everything but boring.
Love is a bully. With a gooey grasp it clings on, refusing to let go. Challenging the gnarled, fixed ideas that sit like blocks in my head. Making me pull them out, toss them in the air, re-arrange and fix them anew. So when I went hunting for love in an escape from work and life, I found love in getting work done together.
Every now and then the viscous strands of love catch me by surprise. Tugging at the line on my face, turning it into a smile. Love is a crafty, sly thing, like that. Creeping up in ways I wouldn’t imagine. Not in elaborately designed perfect date-nights, complete with candles, roses and wine; but on unplanned evenings indoors, spent lazily slumped on beanbags, with mugs of beer and a content silence.
Love is annoying too, I suppose. Like a sickeningly sweet song that plays on and on. Seemingly perfect in the glow of a rainy evening. Gomez has been discovered, shared, played on loop and abused. Until the object of your love, begs for something new.
Some days I run races in my mind. Escaping this stupid, little life. On journeys far and wide, as far as my tanned legs will take me. Building multistory castles in the air. Imagining an ever-after. Moving ahead too soon. And it is on those days that I feel it the most. The sticky, sweet, sugary strands that bind me together tug at my heart. Pull me in, bring me right back to where we are. To just being, coexisting, cohabiting, and feeling absurdly content and happy.
Love is a sticky, sweet thing. And most days I stick my tongue out and taste it.