They asked me how I knew, and it’s true that I tend to complicate things, but it’s always been simple when it comes to you: You’re who I talk about when I talk about love.
If this were a magical ring it would heat up if I were in the presence of my soulmate but I wouldn’t be able to tell. I would assume it had always been a little hot to the touch, a soothing warmth around my finger.
Because my best friend is always around.
Some people enjoy praise, those sugared words a craving they can’t deny. Others enjoy doling it out, one pretty word at a time, spilling from their lips like honey. And wouldn’t it be so very sweet, if the universe conspired to make them meet?
There’s a particular smile you can’t fake. The most genuine, born out of sheer sincerity. It’s the one that pulls at the edges of your lips, dimples your cheeks and tugs at the corners of your eyes. It connects to your chest through heartstrings.
‘I feel like we’ve met before,’ I say, and what I mean is: maybe we’ve run into each other in every lifetime on purpose, to pick up where we left off.
Our unfinished business is loving until love runs out.
I keep running into you because I’m not done yet.
There are certain weapons used by those who know how to aim for the heart: whining for attention, pouting for effect, pleading with a mouth that knows just what to say and eyes that have learned that by giving you a certain look they will surely get their way.
We have a perfect view of the moon in all her pretty phases but I never really considered how she has the best view of us, too. Maybe she puffs her cheeks up full and dresses herself pink and red and bright just to flirt back.
There’s so much intimacy in familiarity. In comfortable silences and absentminded touches. In a nickname only you get to use. In guessing someone’s thoughts before they voice them. In the absence of space kept between restless hands.
I like how teasing becomes a love language when you are fluent in a person. When you know just what it takes to steal a smile and cause a blush. It’s the price you pay for an eye roll and shared laughter. It’s calculated flirting, intimacy in disguise.
There’s something precious about kind words, spoken softly, always ready to soothe and reassure. About a heart willing to become a soft landing place for someone in a free fall and pair of arms outstretched to catch them. Only few know the strength it takes to be gentle.
They say you become a museum of everything you’ve ever loved but I think it’s more of a library. You borrow pieces from the ones you love and lend them yours, and keep a record in the archives of your heart.
There’s tragedy in doomed beginnings and heartbreak in broken farewells. In stories about people who lived and loved and lost.
But there’s a crueler tale, you see.
It’s the one where they could have been lovers, but never got to be.
There are two ways to tell if someone is in love with the person in their line of sight: when they can’t look away, and when they can’t bear to look their way.