helio365isms

Ever been in love? You should really try it at some point. I remember the last time I fell in love properly - something like two hours ago, it was. Yep. I was gathering my hat and scarf, making plans with a friend for later in the evening, when a man came in the door and made a beeline straight for where I was standing. I watched him approach out of the corner of my eye, probably rather conspicuously. The next song was starting. He held out a hand.

Me: “I’ve literally never done this before.”

Him: “Okay.”

He was tall, like I like them. Surprisingly buff. Almost imperceptibly ginger in the dim room. He didn’t really look me in the eyes after I took his hand; his breath smelled a great deal like tuna. And, most importantly, he led like a dream.

I fell in love with the dance right away.

He drew me in, let me out, guided the small of my back with a sure hand, and we danced until the space between us had diminished to the breadth of a finger. Maybe less. I fell in love with the space between us.

I fell in love with the way the song eased out of our ears. I fell in love with the moment in which there was no music but we were holding still holding the dip.

Him: “You said you’ve never done that before?”

Me: “Ahaha, yeahhhh.”

Him: “That was great!”

Me: “Thank you. I, erm, have to go now - I was actually about to leave when you came up.”

Him: “Oh! I’m sorry for keeping you.”

I hope that I said “Please don’t be sorry,” but I honestly don’t remember.

Outside, I fell in love with the air. I fell in love with my hat and scarf all over again. I fell in love with my home while I was chaining my bike up, and then with my bike while I was keying into my home and thinking about biking. I fell in love with my roommate when I walked in, and with my bed when I sank into it, and with pretty much everything that I’ve come in contact with since then.

It’s astounding how much I can love once I get going.

And that’s sort of the crux of the matter, isn’t it? Loving with abandon is simply a matter of taking the first plunge (or getting pushed off the first cliff while you aren’t looking, perhaps?), and, for goodness’ sake, why can’t that plunge happen every morning? Every action - this breath, and this one, and this one, and - is a plunge. Every sunrise is a plunge. Every end is a plunge.

I think that I am falling in love with first plunges.

I think that I am falling in love with falling in love.

If I do nothing else in my life, I hope that I will remember what this end, this plunge, and this love feel like.