January 21, 2015

Something about love

I fall in love the way you fall down a flight of stairs : you never see it coming, it's brutal, and chances are you'll take someone else down as well. My heart is the most bruised muscle in my body. This is not a bad thing. I fall in love with all manners of people ; not all men, not all lovers – but all the perfect strangers that I meet and that leave an impression on my soul. A version of what follows happened to me lately and I thought I would share, because I am grateful for what I gained and lost through this.

The moon is rising high and my legs are heavy. I don't know what time it is. 2 am ? 3 ? It's night, warm misty night like only Indonesia has them. I'm walking on the narrow dust path outside my temporary home, cold river on my left and a silent rice field on the right. I'm holding hands with a boy that followed me. I don't know if it matters that it is that particular boy or if it could have been any of the people that were sitting in a circle by candlelight, just moments before. But here he is holding my hand, his shadow towering over mine, the wing flowing between our chests. His hand stroking the part where my dress stops covering my back. The moon is rising high.

The road brings new people to you everyday. I tell him : the thing that amazes most is all these people that I get to meet and spend time with, all radiant, brave, kind, seeking more truth, more light, more life. I have no idea what I did to deserve them, but I am grateful for each and every one. He smiles and answers : it's because you're like that too. And I know he's being nice and a little bit flirty but the words find a warm spot across my lungs. The moon is rising high.

The road brings you new people to love and then takes them away from you. I've said more goodbyes in six months than I've done in my whole life. And sometimes it feels like words won't do anymore, sentences like « I wish I could love you but tomorrow you'll be gone and I'll never see you again » just dig into my heart. But it doesn't matter. The dance goes on. It's not every night that you are out in the rice fields with a stranger, surrounded by mist and warm wind and the stars above. We look at each other and smile in disbelief, because these are the days of our life, and we are the luckiest to experience this. Strange earth, strange air, stranger in my arms. You'll go your way and I'll go mine, and even though our homes are near, it's unlikely we'll meet again. It's okay. This is still some kind of love : loud, wandering love, love beginning before nightfall and ending before dawn. A love that looks like us : daring, fast, on the move. A love that looks up and away and is not afraid of losing. There is no sadness here because this is how it should be.

The moon is rising high.

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