And the bus is here…

bustop

Most of the times you don’t like to miss the bus late in the night because the following one would come in at least 20 minutes. And when it is cold, and when it is raining, you just want to get home as quickly as possible as your day was already too long.

But sometimes the “most of the times” does not work. You just miss the bus. The next one is indeed in 20 minutes. But this time you don’t mind. Because he is there, waiting with you. It is cold. It is raining. You have never been that happy that you had missed the bus. You have never been that grateful that the wait was at least 20 minutes. You even wish for the bus to come later than scheduled. You would not mind at all. It is cold. It is raining.

You get soaked in his arms. Each kiss is wet of tenderness. He holds you tight. All the year long, you hate the rain, you hate the cold. Now the cold is your ally, the rain your best friend. You feel like a heroin in an old movie. You feel like you are in front of your hero. You feel his lips. Over and over again. The 20 minutes are the worthiest ones to live, the worthiest ones on the planet “Time”.

You feel like a kid. You feel like an adolescent falling in love for the first time. You feel like an accomplished woman knowing when it is true love. You want to say something. But there is no need to say anything. Your eyes mean any expression of love all together.

19 minutes. 18 minutes. 17 minutes.

Three seconds.  Two seconds. One second.

The bus is here. One last kiss. After how many kisses. 19 minutes. 60 seconds in a minute. One kiss a second. 1’140 kisses. Or something like that. The last kiss. You feel it like a deep cut.

You enter the bus. You wave at him. In the rain he waves back. He is magisterial. He is majestic. You turn your head. You cannot stand anymore this view of him. Your chest is exploding. You know this kind of romantism would kill you if you continue. You know that this kind of love is the best but also the worst. You touch your lips. A bit numb of his kisses. You smell your fingers embalmed with his perfume. You look outside. The rain is still there. You count the raindrops and find them infinitely smaller than the amount of love you feel for him. You look outside. You love your city. You love the night bus. And everything he has seen with you.

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Infatuation vs. Love

I was attracted to this man for a while. I wrote to this man for a while. We wrote to each other for a while. But then suddenly somehow I ended up writing only common stuff, observing myself becoming superficial with him. The feelings were gone even though I had several times tried to look for them, carefully with my soul and my heart. The words and the feelings could not connect anymore. I wrote empty letters which were less than nothing. It happened and I did not even know why. I guess like everything, things come and go, feelings too. Especially infatuation. It can never equal love and true love. Yes, I felt for him a certain infatuation, which cannot last without proximity and sharing.

I often ask myself what is the real difference between attraction, infatuation and love. I now have the answer. With true love, you go through silence, separation, loneliness and nothing ever changes. The love is deeply anchored in you. You carry this love with you, walking through darkness sometimes, bearing the loneliness in times apart, but it is just still there. All your mind and soul and body just bear the love, powerfully and imperturbably. Silence never means emptiness. Words make sense. Separation survives distance. You connect no matter how, no matter where, no matter what.

Infatuation fades away very quickly once the physical contact is no more there. Love goes far beyond the touching, the talking, the meeting. Those wonderful feelings of love, you stand there by yourself and feel them all, carry them all inside you. Infatuation is nothing in comparison. Barely a sensation of lust.

I had experienced several times infatuation but had loved not more than twice in my life. I guess that was all the difference.