Falling In Love Again

This past weekend, something really big happened. Epic.

I fell in love—again.

For the first time in years, I felt that giddy warmth and comfort that only comes from knowing, and trusting someone for a long time. I liked everything about this person—eyes, hair, shape, flaws and all.

This was someone I could truly imagine spending the rest of my life with. It was almost too good to be true.

There were moments when I doubted myself, and my fear of being hurt or disappointed nagged at my thoughts whenever I caught myself smiling “too much”. But I persisted. This just felt too damn nice to let my insecurities win. What if this was a once in a lifetime opportunity? What if I’m never in this exact spot again? (Which a friend recently reminded me, I wouldn’t be—a moment is gone forever once it’s passed.)

Suddenly, all my plans and hopes and dreams were possible. Go to Paris? Why wait? Morocco, Tanzania, London? Absofuckinglutely. My heart swelled with joy, as I visualized the life I’ve always wanted, unfolding bit by bit, my beloved blazing the path.

Love really is the best drug, and I don’t know how I’ve abstained from it so long.

I also realized, no one else has to love this person but me. It didn’t matter where this person fell on my friends or families’ scale of attractiveness. It didn’t matter what my parents thought. I loved this person, and that wasn’t just enough—it was everything.

All my life I’ve found plenty of happiness in doing for others, and I’m sure I’ll continue to do so—but I neglected to understand how important it was to focus my energy on this one person first, before anyone, or anything else.

As Monday evening rolled around, and the holiday weekend drew to a close, I briefly worried this was just a fling. What will happen tomorrow morning? Will I feel the same? What should I do to make sure this feeling doesn’t wane?

I sat, perched on my back porch, and could feel the sun’s heat ease as the sky turned a beautiful mess of pinks and oranges and blues. I gazed down at the hand resting on my knee, and marveled at it’s simple, perfect beauty. Each finger, knuckle and even a wrinkle or two, held a lifetime of stories, and I loved them all. Scars and scrapes only enhanced its appearance—to me it was the perfect hand. And it was connected to a person I could finally love…

Me.

© 2012, FearLess Jenn. All rights reserved.