The Funny Thing About Love

I used to hate you. And I mean hate. Although we went to school together, we never spoke, never interacted. When L told me we were going to pick you up that first time, I cringed, warm bubbles of self consciousness popping in my stomach. I’d heard the rumors, your biting insults and grating laugh driving girls to weep in the weeds out behind the school.

I got used to hearing your voice calling for L and silently wished he would see through your obnoxious antics. Yet we continued to see you, hear you, talk to you. I had no choice, really. You and L had been friends for so long. I bore the burden.

That’s the funny thing about love–it tricks you every time.

Maybe it was the aloneness, the togetherness we felt while we waited. By then, I had grown accustomed to your presence. You were there and so was I and that was it. We waited, in the dwindling twilight of your hometown hours. We waited in parks and near rivers, but I think it was the dock where it all seemed so different, the light glinting off the water and the oppressive heat of the midsummer afternoon weighing on our skin.

You looked different then, your eyes with a new shine, your smile striking chords in my soul. The sun sent sparkles through my vision, transforming you into someone new.

Love plays tricks on us. That night your hand was on my knee, my lips on yours, your hands on my spine, your fingers pressing me against you. Under imaginary stars and cover of night, we let love dupe us into madness.

That’s the funny thing about love–it blinds us and buries us in beauty we never knew existed. It opens our eyes.

If I were to write a book, this could be an excerpt.


One thought on “The Funny Thing About Love

  1. Pingback: The Funny Thing About Love | stweblog

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