A series of small moments

I think love is the little voice that says, being alive is magical. Being alive, like the whole thing, all of life. Not any one single moment is more special than another, they’re all equally important.

How do you capture that? You can’t. Not in one post or declaration or song or ceremony or idea. Because trying to capture it makes that moment of declaration more special than the rest and it isn’t.

I was afraid to fall in love because I thought once I fell, in that moment of risk, if it failed it would hurt. But there isn’t a light switch you turn on and off, oh suddenly you’re in love. It never quite switches on and it never quite switches off. They are just a lot of small imperceptible moments that always flow and continue, the way life does and the way life goes on and on.

So I will tell you something incredibly heartbreaking: love doesn’t exist. If you’re looking for a special moment that will set you apart from the rest, it won’t be there. Love doesn’t exist because it melts into existence, it is existence itself.

Sometimes I think that no one thinks very highly of me, my existence is so bleak. But why look at myself through the eyes of humans, that is so overdone. There is a speck of dust floating out in space somewhere, I wonder what it thinks of me? Everything I do must be astonishing. What about nothingness? What would nothingness think of me? The way nothingness loves existence, this is real love.

I perceive you the way the vast emptiness of space would perceive your simple existence: with wonder