Do you remember the first time you fell in love? I do. The warmth that filled my face with identifiable redness, the skipping beat of my heart that I thought everyone could hear; the rosy colored view of all life I seemed to adopt. I remember this so well.
Some people say that falling in love is merely biological. They argue that it is simply an integral part of our species’ search throughout the world for the proper mate for propagating but that doesn’t hold well with me. It’s actually magical more than hormonal. The knowledge that touching that singular person could be heart stopping; the realization that this person may never love you back at least not like you love him catches in your throat; and the hope that all of your dreams come true is a setting for a spiritual landscape.
Falling in love is so like falling: the thrill, the nervous anticipation, the potential for hurt all present and accounted for in the process. But what is it about another human being that makes them so desirable and unmistakably distinctive. What do we sense in our spirit that tells us to be the moth to their flame?
I have never understood how someone I come into contact with can become that one in a million individual with whom I am so taken. There is a familiarity from my soul to his, an unspoken understanding that says “he’s the one.” The personal chemistry may not always be there and the feelings may not always be reciprocated but that doesn’t stop the heart from feeling what it does. What does a fluttering pulse mean to you?
The heart, I think, has its own set of coordinates that we do not understand and, I agree, sometimes the heart might benefit from having a brain; a dose of realism. But how delicious the feeling of love is anyway! How fleeting the feeling could be as well!
Although I believe I have been in love at least three times in my life and only acted on two of these times (with some success), there is still the inkling that perhaps no one can find that perfect love ; the one written about in stories and on film; the illusive love; the love of fiction. That standard for love, although highly unrealistic is marked by an intense passion, one that cannot be burned out by the monotony of daily events; one where the love is equally reciprocated and kept delicately in the hearts of the two who share it. True love is the bond of the ages marked by moments, gestures, and yet occasionally unnoticed like the sheer lace on an elaborate dress.
As long as people live and breathe, love will always be an essential ingredient even if it is fleeting and brief and unrequited. We cannot live without love, which is why our hearts tell us to try and try again. Love is the elixir of life.
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