Sometimes, when the moon is full and the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time itself will lie down and be still for.
My personal life is not something I go out of my way to discuss in these pages. It’s neither the time nor the place for it and those who need to know certain things already do. But sometimes there are thoughts that spill out of me that need sharing, that dance around the edges of over-sharing, while still staying carefully on the ‘right’ side of the line.
With the Valentine’s Day ball coming tomorrow the ship is decked to the rafters in hearts and flowers. It’s difficult to get away from the conventionality of it all, the expectation that you will have a normal life, a ‘normal’ relationship etc etc. Valentine’s Day paints a perfect picture of romantic love, exactly as the greeting card companies tell us that it should be. It’s a beautiful image of pink and white and red that’s laced with just the right amount of sincerity. All very neat, and all very pretty.
And all totally wrong.
Because that’s not what love is.
Love is not pastel and perfect. Love is wonderful and beautiful and messy and unconventional. Love is fights and massive misunderstandings and tears and make-ups, love is being there for each other even when the other person is driving you somewhere well beyond insane; love is long distance phone calls that talk about absolutely nothing because you’re talking just to hear the other person’s voice. Love is not talking for days on end because you know you don’t need to. Love is friendship, and sisterhood and families. Love is not having to say you’re sorry and having to say you’re sorry all the bloody time. Love is a beautiful maddening paradox that you can’t pin down because it keeps flying away from you when you try to put a label on it.
For a long time, I fell victim to the labels, just like everyone else, I felt like I had to fit myself into a box that would be considered socially acceptable. I tried to be something I wasn’t and tried to believe something I didn’t so that I could fit into those labels, wear those nametags. But the thing is, I don’t. I don’t fit. My life, my relationship, my friendships, my love and all that goes with it…it’s not conventional – but get this, no one’s is.
Love is what makes you and the person (or people) you love happy. And to hell with whether the rest of the world understands or accepts it, as long as you aren’t hurting yourself or anyone else.
Which is why, were it not because of the fact that the uniform for tomorrow night’s ball is prescribed, were it not for the fact that I am required by my employers to don that perfect red satin ball gown…I would wear purple.