sometimes you chisel through love like a prisoner escaping alcatraz. sometimes it hits you over the head like a ton of bricks. and sometimes, sometimes you realize you were there all along, that this person you’ve spent time with as a friend was actually someone you’ve loved from the beginning, and then they look at you in the dark of the movie theater and it’s so intense that you feel a little embarrassed, so you glance away, but you can still feel their eyes on your face, just watching you because watching you is a thing they love doing. in any other context it would be creepy, but not this one. this is the one everyone wants.
it’s scary. it’s scary because it’s this kind of realization like you’re in quicksand, like you realize halfway through sinking that you’re in quicksand, and ideally in this instance you want to sink, you want to be a part of that sand, but you also know that once you do that’s it, that’s where you are, and the only way to get out is to kick and scream or have someone else pull you out. i’m sorry. this is a poor metaphor. love shouldn’t be something you want to kick and scream out of. but on the other hand, it’s not this easy, laissez-faire thing you just idly let happen. it’s an active force, a thing that must be cultivated, watered, harvested. it’s not an easy thing, not like how it looks in the movies. in the movies they cut out all the boring shit, they just heighten the emotion, but that’s like giving someone a lovely trellis without the wooden posts to hold it up. that’s the trouble. everyone wants it to be something special, but it can only be special when you’ve built the foundation first. everything special has the same foundation.