Love When You Mean It

Musings from a hopeful romantic

Every day, I think about the people I have loved, who have left. It is a shame. I am ashamed. Time is supposed to heal all wounds but mine feel raw, raw, raw. You come back in flashes whilst I’m cooking, an ingredient will remind me of the time we made pasta together after school.

A particular shade of sky blue haunts me because it was his favourite. Time is short and I am wasting it on him.

We only spoke for four months but I can’t listen to that song without you, you, you washing over me. ‘Time flies!’ Flies all around me like horses swarmed on a field in the height of summer.

They visit me in dreams and stay all day. First loves, school bullies, best friends. And ‘how lucky!’ I chastise myself, they come in plurals. What a wonder it is to form any relationship, let alone many. But it is exhausting, to remember. And why can’t I think about the people I’ve loved and lost, the people who left through no malice or fault? And it feels abnormal: another rare condition. Even with my current friends and family, this ability to have one foot in the past sets me apart. I learnt about Thesus’ Ship when I brought it up with a friend the other day. What even is our relationship if I am seeing and speaking to all the yous and you are only speaking to the me you see right now? A wikipedia link in return, and it set something in motion. Theseus’ Ship is the philosophical paradox that poses the question of whether something is still the same if all its parts have been replaced. Theseus has a ship that is preserved by replacing old, rotted wooden planks with new ones over time, until no original piece remains. Is it the same ship? At what point did it stop being the same if not?

Maybe it’s part of the moral OCD, truly deeply meaning it when you say you’ll love someone forever. Maybe remembering is little-me’s way of keeping an oath. But what of my self-love? What if my ship is so full of the past I can’t let the future in, to replace it and update it, as is necessary?

Lucky again, I am not a ship. I have limitless capacity for love. I have drowned in grief and never capsized.

So What’s It About?? Why Are You Thinking Of Them Again?

A small voice in my mind persists and won’t let go. Sticky thoughts, I call them. Sticky brain.

I don’t think it’s about anything, I reply, I think it just is.

Do You Think That It Is Love, Leftover?

I think that’s just love when you mean it.

l o v e,

HB :)

Psssst join me at our HopeFUL Romantics Creative Workshop! Come for the vibes, stay for the communi-tea, and leave with a beautiful craft!