A Love Story
Where do I begin: this is not a love story of boy-meets-girl, or a tale of girl-meets-boy. There are no magic potions, curses from evil witches, or Prince Charming laying a kiss on a Beautiful Princess. There is no once-upon-a-time, or a happily-ever-after. It is a story of everything falling into place, at just the right moment.
This is not a love story. This is not a love song. This is, simply put, love.
It’s either Tetris, or life itself: everything falls into just the right places with a bit of a nudge, and luck on your side. When the right piece falls. When the right connections are made. It isn’t about fleshing out characters or committing everything to the plot of a proper story, with graphs and whatnot. A time, a place, two different people with so many things in common, yet so many things setting them apart, falling in love.
It’s everyone’s love story, I guess. Love, commitment, passion… just because. Sentences terminating in conjunctions: eternity. “Falling:” that it is taking place, as if frozen in that eternity.
There isn’t even a story. Stories are written with finality: there is no sequel, there is no revision, the events die once they’re committed to the past tense. After all, how are you supposed to capture the here-and-now?
For the longest time, I wondered how I could write that love story on every moment that takes place. The truth is, I cannot; not because I’m at a loss for words or because I’m hesitant to do so, but because that story is still here. It is taking place. Gifts exchanged, topics talked about, love reciprocated, kisses exchanged, a lifetime being lived… must it end in a story? I don’t think so. Not for the girl who leaves me speechless in amazement. Not for the girl who leaves me in wonder, clumsily struggling and searching for the word, whenever I am to describe her.
A very difficult love story to tell, I suppose. There are girls who fall in love with boys who do origami, and boys who fall in love with girls who trace the Led Zeppelin logo on their notebooks. There are boys and girls who sing duets. There are girls who are confused with the ways of the boy, and boys who are too scared or just too afraid to say what they really feel. There are bloggers, I guess, who go to the place of their fifth date, reveling in the conversations shared there: politics, movies, 500 Days of Summer.
There are people who say “yes” on Christmas Eve. There are people who see a second or a minute or a day or a week or a month not as just a simple milestone, but the beginning of forever.
I guess all girls have a twinkle in their eyes, or glow when their in love. I guess you can commit and incorporate all of these elements in a love story, if you wanted to.
Any girl, but not the girl in my mind, in my heart, in my forever. When you find the end of forever, only then will you read the best love story ever told. To paraphrase Sid Vicious, when you bury me next to my baby, with my black jacket, my jeans, my Timberland boots. With my story for Eternity to tell; with all of my love to remain.
It’s everyone’s love story. Except that for every passing moment, every single instance, and every single point in time, that story is mine to live, with the girl holding my hand, with the girl in my heart.
In her words, I surmise: for her, I’ll never get tired of saying, “Yes.”