I want that love where the rapport you share leads to fewer moments of mental self-flagellation.
Let me explain, I believe I am decently good at articulating feelings or random thoughts. Imagine I am trying to conjure up the image of a beach and I am gathering all the small things that remind of a beach - the bright sun early in the morning - rising as it shimmers on the vast ocean, the full moon light that glitters on the roaring waves and still inspires a sense of quiet peace and uncontrollable passion simultaneously, and the shade of the coconut trees while you curl up with a book - in a whatchamight call it - netted thingamajig that you tie between trees (yeah, my mind just generated vast amounts of flatulence as I tried to recolled the simple word 'hammock'). You see how I totally ruined the image of a beach? This is when I resort to mental self-flagellation.
So, as I was saying, I want love which allows me to speak in pronouns sometimes and still make total sense ("can you please get that thing thats there") without as much as pointing fingers or providing gestures - the way my parents speak after twenty five years of cohabitation.
I want that love where the religious familiarity with each others bodies leads to remembering the most unwanted details. You end up with this mysterious power to feel them, like a phantom limb. Yes, creepy. A mole on the shoulder, the patter of hair on his chest, the cadence of varying toe sizes on his feet, the curve of his calf muscles, the crookedness of his fingers, absence of a widow's peak, attached and squared earlobes.
I want that love which brings endless fascinating fresh ideas and arguments into your life, every day. You function as two very distinct individuals, and you dont grow together, you shouldnt. You should in fact guard your interests like its your most precious offering. Can the magic of new love last a life time? Can two people cohabitating be fountainheads of opposing, or at the very least, distinct and yet completely rational ideas?
The love that started with an immersion into existentialism. Aah the charm a morose, rational individual over-dosed on Nietzsche and likes of Dostoevsky can have on you. For someone who is in the constant struggle to find the 'meaning of life and living', existentialism is very convenient and mildly frustrating at the start. It's simple teaching being, there is no point to life. Everything is meaningless. Anyone who dabbles in this reverts to the 'pursuit of happiness', because that is about the only journey that seems worth embarking. Then Buddha strongly beckons. I can see it as a very natural transition for a person who wasnt pushed over the edge.
My only fear with this kind of love, is in Camus' words "She mumbled that I was peculiar, that that was probably why she loved me, but that one day I might disgust her for the very same reason". This 'she' is deeply in love with the 'he'.
Luckily, I have (had) all of these loves in life. (Besides all the tlc from family by virtue of being related.)
...and that is what I am thankful for.
Holiday season is here! The world really ought not to end.
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