I used to think life is too short to not tell the people you love that you love them. But maybe that word is tossed around like hockey pucks. Always crashing into walls in the end.
So I decided not to tell you that I love you, but to tell you that you are bigger than the Great Lakes. You are the first drop of water in the morning. The first trip alone on a plane. You are the most persistent hangover, and the most satisfying nap. You are déjà vu. You are the surprise post card in the mail, and neatly wrapped presents. Both open and mysterious. You are chapped lips and clean hair.
I have had my heart broken approximately five times. And I’ve been in love about six. And throughout my travels of being beaten and bruised I have learned one thing:
Love is not a feeling. Love is not way of living and it is not a state of mind.
It is every body of water that soaks up the whole world. And I am just a tug boat on the Pacific.
I want to write about something I have been thinking and pondering and stewing and discussing. So here is the big question:
Have you ever felt a magnetic pull to someone, much stronger than friendship? Much stronger than conventional love? I have.
On January 22nd 2012, it was the day after my 21st birthday and I had arrived from Santiago, Chile, to Buenos Aires, Argentina. I was hot, sticky, and alone. In search of a grocery store I asked the tall, thin, blonde girl, in the hostel kitchen what she was cooking and where I could buy it myself. I was meek and reserved and I felt flushed in the humidity. The strings of sentences that followed made me feel something for her that was not sexual, nor romantic, but it was grabbing and I held on. As a matter of fact, I held onto the yarn of our relationship for a month. She became my ride or die around the country of Argentina for what seemed like eternity and flew by in minutes. Everything she said, everything she did, everything we encountered, I ate up like the lentils she made on that first day. Our experience stuck to my insides like peanut butter on the roof of a chapped mouth, and I savoured all of its nutrients.
I learned about the power of connection in this month. I learned that you can fall in love with someone in hours, and that doesn’t have to involve sexuality. The fruition of our relationship came about in day long and over night bus rides, in rain storms, in sweaty night clubs, in the frusteration of bus stations, and the silence of language. So how do you explain this? I like to think that we unraveled together. We unraveled in a way that led me to love the way her wild curls and shoulders danced in unison to out dated nightclub music. I loved the way she painted a picture of the world for me, through the lens of her vagabond experience. I loved the way she believed in eternal soul mates, just me like me. I loved the way she let me talk and ramble and spew while she nodded and ”mmhmmm’d” so very studiously. I loved the way it felt to fall asleep next to her in the middle of our continuous chit chat. I loved the way she loved whipped cream, and her passion for coffee in the morning, her journal scrawls, the way her hip bones looked in almost everything.
I have always been open to experimentation with sexuality and I have, many times, let myself act on the curiosity of the female body. I am not a stranger to the gentleness of being with a woman. And yet the many nights we shared on a mattress, I never once felt the need to pursue that, and nor did she. It was as if the level of our connection was more elevated than the physical and we became more intimate in our intellect and the stronger it became the more I fell in love with her spirit.
So in the end, our departure brought another impact to my life. The value of our electric relationship continued to spark and spark over the past year, through text, and social media, and a night reunited in Hollywood and in all this time our geographic distance has never registered with me. So that the power of connection? To never feel far from someone? To not feel the need for sex, only intellect? For an orgasm that comes from intimacy, and that intimacy is solely in the form of company? Maybe there is something about being thrown into a country, alone, and guard down, that allows the soul to grab onto life a little more boldly.
I don’t have answers, and I maybe I don’t want to. But I do treasure the day I saw her stirring lentils in a pot.
Lover, lifer, writer. Journalism student, and Vancouver freelancer. This is my personal blog with a lot of my own poetry and intimate entries. I am continuously inspired by successful, talented and innovative women, and I try to reflect that as much as possible. I hope you enjoy.