Why we fall in love:
Cupid doesn't shoot arrows.
Cupid pulls carpets.
Brendan and Alison, think that I shall never see a poem as lovely as the two of you. You’ve waterski-crashed into a different life that you weren’t expecting and I hope you’re infinitely grateful.
This might sound crazy but I believe that if the two of you were born a thousand years ago in what is now modern Uganda, to different parents than you have now, with different skin than you currently possess and were raised to speak a language other than English, that you would still fall in love.
The first time you met, your seventy-five year old selves recognized each other and all that was left was the talking and the stumbling as your younger selves, these bodies here, were coaxed towards that older couple.
My advice is to be each other’s hiding places and play hide and seek with the planet and with the expectations of society. Hide in each other and tell the entire world that it is ‘it’ and to go count to 8 billion. Then turn your faces inward and look at each other through that reflecting prism of your hearts, a light-bridge connecting you wherever you go, no matter the distance.
You’ll still be able to see the buildings and the faces outside. You’ll still be able to hear the traffic and the conversations, but a part of you should face forever inwards, a sun beaming down on the new piece of each other hiding in your chests.
Add today to the collection of good days in your hearts. These memories will be proof that life was good. They will be insurance against the onslaught of age. These memories right here.
Brendan, a crinkling at the side of Alison’s eye and you’re hers. Regrets should go unregarded, unimportant, fleeting and useless as a weather report for next year. When you’re not touching each other, it feels like the circuit is broken. Be it hips, lips or fingertips, that touch makes the reasons plain.
The times you’re around each other are already so valuable. You both know the face of loss, false hope and boredom. You both know the bad decisions, the dreary sentences of days without end, the impending aimlessness of just another week on the fire.
Your relationship is a unicorn on the bridge of the starship enterprise.
Give your good judgment a head start. Make your bodies into flint and spark fires to give love a chance to see in the dark. Make prank calls to your past. Get the future good and drunk and cheat at cards until you’re all naked in a dirty motel room laughing. Spend the rest of your lives colouring inside each other’s lines. Burn your flight plan with your left hand and reach for each other with your right.
Your days have become dreams in between the dreams you have at night that are made more vibrant by the fact that you are sleeping beside each other. You have taken each other’s present, both sleeping and awake, and made it better. Not to overshare the obvious but I bet that there are times when you are lost in this unexpected goodness, this lack of drama, this windfall oasis of peace.
When we are at our loneliest, we are at our most common. That’s why this love, this altered state, feels so special. I hope you feel parts of you that you didn’t even realize were tense start to uncurl, daring the sun. Today is springtime finally catching you in a pillow fight.
You’re turning the strings of each other’s hearts into an orchestra. I hope you swim forever in the high-tide line of each other’s eyes and keep reminding each other that there is such a thing as a safe place. Be thrilled you make each other happy.
I hope you go forward, hand in hand like kids at a playground.
I hope you skip until you break a record.