I’ve always been a hopeless romantic. The writer who has her head in the clouds when it comes to love, who always tells everyone I meet, “There’s someone out there for you, for everyone.”
I can imagine what they were seeing, every one of these people I mused to. They must have seen this starry-eyed girl, who was naïve or maybe still is. They probably thought, “Life will humble her soon. She’ll realize it’s not so easy.”
I’ve grown up with some of the greatest love stories known to man: reading, watching, and listening to them. They’ve imprinted into my skin, embedded in my brain. So much so that I can’t imagine a life where I don’t get to experience something that magical.
Growing older has made me realize just how much you can fall in love with the idea of love. The love we see in films and read in books. We can be so blind to everything else that sometimes we don’t see the other things. We don’t see the unconditional love of a parent, a sibling, or a friend. Because, of course, it’s a love we’ve maybe grown to recognize, to be so familiar with that it seems like something different.
There is the argument that such love is different. Love from family and love from a partner, a soul mate, and a companion are very different. Still, it doesn’t mean we don’t experience such love. Intent may differ, but just as a past ex could have made me tea in the morning, so would my mother. Just as my friend hugged me in my darkest moment, so did that person I loved.
I think it all depends on how we choose to see these moments, these acts of love. I don’t want to say those words I know sometimes rattle through my brain. I don’t want to see that starry-eyed girl and tell her what the world will maybe want to tell her as she dreams of the future she craves.
I want to look at the girl who watched dreamily and read in wonder and be able to tell her, “It will come, and even though it won’t be easy, keep your heart open and be patient.”
I think it’s important, no matter your age, to love boldly, to love bravely, and to love wholly. Not just others but that part of yourself who wished and hoped for such things. To expect from love what you hope from it. We shouldn’t close ourselves to other experiences of love either. I think friendly love, familiar love… such love prepares us. It molds us into the person we are destined to become so that when it finally arrives, we are ready.
I write of love because of what I know and what I hope to experience one day, no matter how long it seems. I will never wither in my faith, dash my hopes aside, or dull that starry-eyed gaze. I will write of love like I’m writing of a treasured friend, someone I know well and hope to know better.