Looking up into the cool darkness of the sky, I abruptly
realized that I am in love. It’s a
frightening thing—this love. I always
thought that as I grew older my love would be reciprocated and through this
mutual admiration and understanding, grow deep and tall and strong and
wide. It never occurred to me that I
could love someone with that kind of love and it not be reciprocated. After all, wasn’t true love, true love? Wasn’t there a certain mysterious and
seductive essence to true love that
led to the nature of its truth? Didn’t
you just know? And wasn’t it meant to be reciprocated?
What do you do when you realize that like is more than
like? What do you do after you accept
that this longing for another person to be a willing part of you: your thoughts,
your actions, your words, your laughter and your pain is love and not just
like? All this time, I’ve assumed it was
liking, crushing, longing even but never actual love. I never knew that I equated true love with
reciprocity, that prior crushes were just misty experiences and not granite
reality. Somewhere along the way, I
figured that if I truly loved a man then he would love me in return. Somewhere along the way, I figured that
crushing was okay for the moment but love was too precious to be found in the
ashes of passing fancy. Have I been
wrong all this time?
The man I love doesn’t know that I love him and I can’t
quite pinpoint all the ways in which I love him. I can’t point to the exact moment when I
realized my love. All I know is that there
is more to this than crushing. Crushing
doesn’t last this long, doesn’t run this deep, doesn’t stress this much and
surely doesn’t worry this way. Crushing
is brilliance, light, intensity and flash.
It comes all a quiver, full of moonlit serenades and snow capped
mountains. It focuses only on the now,
the palpable chemistry between two people.
It is swift, sudden and spontaneous.
It may simmer but it does not smolder.
Love, though, is elusively dangerous; alluring in its
infatuation stage and dancing about the heart, wooing it into a pleasant
acquiescence. As the heart is notorious
for its ever larger and ever stronger desire to express itself, love finds
itself in the right place at the right time.
Love wishes the best for the lovèd, even at its own expense. It longs to be near the lovèd though that
nearness singe it. It sees the faults of
the lovèd through gentle eyes remembering his frailty. Love lives for a moment’s glance and dies
with a parting word. And that, ladies
and gentlemen, is what encompasses me.
The mere acknowledgment of being in love is both liberating and worrisome. I am liberated because now from this vantage
point I have greater self awareness and therefore power to change, even slough
off this love? I mean, can I slough it
off like dead skin? Can I with the truth
fully visualized, act upon that truth to change it into another truth? The truth that says I was in love but now am not?
On the other hand, I am worried because if this is love, will it stay
with me even though I can not be loved in kind?
If this is love, what manner of heart do I have that has fallen for
someone such as this? Fallen for someone
whom I cannot have and who does not want me?
This is a strange and difficult thing. My pastor was right to say that love should
not be awakened before its time.