I don’t believe that you can meet someone on December 27th for the first time for 30 minutes, get engaged two weeks later on January 12th, get married another week later on January19th, and expect to be in love with your new spouse by sundown on January 19th. Sure there is some sort of feeling in the air, but to call it love is overrated. I think it’s just lust and some excitement. Not that there is anything wrong with lust. It’s needed and is one of the initial ingredients of most romantic relations.
The catch is unless that lust is nurtured into something more viable – like love – it’s a lost cause and it vanishes just as fast as it arrived. This is the part through which I’ve been stumbling, scratching my head, pulling my hair, and downright just losing my mind. I’ve come to realize that nurturing a relationship, especially one with a complete stranger, requires patience, the kind of patience I’ve never given or received thus far in life. From where I’ll summon that sort of power is beyond me.
Strange thing is you’d think after all that stumbling, and scratching, and pulling hair, and still getting nowhere, I would have had enough; that I would be more than happy to throw in the towel and walk away with my heart still intact. Truth is I don’t want to walk away, at least not today. Truth is I want to turn that mysterious feeling from January 19th into love. And I mean the crazy kind of love, real crazy love, the kind that gives you tiny surges of electric shock running from the deepest parts of your white matter to the very tips of your toes at various intervals throughout the day, the kind that makes you look at your phone, your front door, or out the window 20, 30, 40 times a day for a sign of it, and the kind without which could leave you mentally impaired and emotionally volatile.
