The Heart Is A Delicate Mechanism That Cannot Be Completely Broken
I open my wardrobe and I pick a pair of wings, I dust them off and I put them on. I don’t know how it happened, but I feel I am ready to fly again. I feel light-hearted and the heart is a delicate mechanism, as long as it ticking, it cannot be completely broken. There is a limit to human suffering, the mystics know this and after that, there is only the possibility of a new sunrise. Nowadays, many people have lost their spirituality, but the need to believe in something and search for meaning in what we experience is so deeply rooted inside human nature. On a larger scale, comfort and solace can be found for instance in art, but on a personal level, inner peace and the feeling of well-being can be found in love. There are aches that some people create and only a new love can heal. This is how it goes, this is the roller coaster we call life: we go up and down, we sink and we fly. Again and again.
We never know when a new love comes, what color are the eyes of this new love, how this new love smiles or how this new love looks while asleep. We never know until it comes and changes everything. I met a man who makes me happy. I was always less inclined to action and I spend most of my time daydreaming and looking outside the window, but since a certain late autumn day when we met, I cannot do anything else, I cannot paint, I cannot write, I just feel like behaving like a cat with my lover.
Here I am today, looking myself in the mirror and smiling, thinking how stupid I was sometimes when I thought I would die of loneliness. There are billions of people on this planet, there should be a match for me or you, no matter what our personal weirdness is. My personal madness is my ability to fall in love again, no matter how big the dose of disappointment I got from life was. I remember when I was in high school, I wrote a poem about the Phoenix bird. I was not able to catch its full meaning back then, but as years pass, I realised that is my personal myth. I fall and rise. Again and again.
I don’t know how it happened, my arms just opened and welcomed him.
I kissed him on the cheeks, a very erotic touch, indeed. And then we looked at each other, it was a very intense gaze, I could sense his legs moving, but our eyes kept touching. A very erotic touch, indeed. That night we said we for the first time and we kept looking at each other, having wine and laughing. We kept saying we: we like a good talk and sunny places, we like the touch of silk and looking outside the window in winter. We might like each other. And my arms opened and welcomed us for the first time.
There are many types of love we encounter in life. But even the one that brings us sorrow at some point is worth living.
The painful, obsessive type of love is more self oriented and less focused on the relationship itself. It’s one of the possibilities life gives us to learn something about ourselves, about who we are and what we really want. It is a way to claim respect, but many times we do it in a wrong way: claiming affection and wishing for attention from a person that is not willing to give it, when we should just give a little self respect to ourselves. Another type of love, the most pleasant one is that kind of love that brings you joy and makes you trustful and light-hearted. I will always prefer joy to suffering and now I will write some bold words, but which also hide inside them a great dose of truth: I will always prefer joy to suffering because I deserve it.
I met someone I feel at ease with, someone I can talk to about all the things I consider important, someone who makes me laugh and I feel comfortable showing my innermost nature. My innermost nature is very playful, I always though that taking yourself too seriously is bad for your health. If I feel at ease with someone I start talking about all kinds of outrageous things, for instance me riding a turquoise horse on one of the main boulevards of Bucharest. Artists are still children at heart, who keep alive their possibility to marvel at anything, including the vivid imaginary world they carry inside. When we start talking about this band named the blonde bears, I am a bit surprised. And I marvel because I always wanted my imagination to meet someone else’s imagination. If there is something I wish for so strongly, that is going for a visit in someone else’s mind. We invent a story and walk that story around in all the bars we go for wine and cuddles.
We laugh thinking about the day when all these imaginary stories we tell to each other, among touches and kisses, will become real. I am glad I have found a friend to play with because love is also a playground. Maybe all those people who suffer because of love, they carry a love that is too old and lost its playful trait. But I am not scared, I know that I will always be incredibly young at heart. We start talking passionately about all those outrageous things, but most importantly we start talking about us. Us, a word that brings me comfort, just like his hands wrapped around my waist.