You know what really gets to me?
The tones “I love you” takes at the close of a letter or a note or a conversation with a lover.
Any time I have ever gone back over old memorabilia, I can decipher, retrospectively, many of the connotations of an ily: bold, earnest or empty, naive, final but never-ending, desperate, hopeful, fragile. To be able to recognize it and appreciate it in the moment is a gift that is so precious and unforgivingly fleeting to all.
And there are more—adjectives that I can’t even articulate from feelings to a words. Both combined and separate, these adjectives are why, even though you could call “I love you” cliche, people will always use it, ardently. Romance can be unoriginal, and the phrase can be overused—especially if it is being said by the wrong person; while from the right individual even once a second isn’t enough iterations, and in the milliseconds between saying it a lover’s every pore is blasting it so that if people are close enough they can feel it radiate off of you—there will always be original ways to say it, do it, be it, feel it. Even a way that isn’t novel in the grand scheme of human history are novel to the two people experiencing it. Humans have facets that sparkle consistently and intermittently, fueled by interaction with world and the people and things in it. And so it is the same with love. Just as we are perpetually learning new things about ourselves, there are always new things to learn about manners of loving.
They kiss the wrong person.
And pretend to be okay.
People will do anything
to distract their heart.
They will do anything to
distract it from
missing someone. (via h-auptgewinn)
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