proclamations of love

'Tis the day that could be the very blight of humanity's compassion.
The day of Hallmark love. Allow me.

If you're not one of the Smug Couplings out there and face this day with fear and loathing [in Las Vegas,] then don't bother reading this post. I love love too much to miss this opportunity folks. And hey, even if I was in love with a statue that didn't return my feelings - this is me, pondering love on Love Day.

Firstly, to the person who makes my legs feels like noodles:

Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for understanding me, knowing more about me each day and still loving me all the same. Thank you for making me laugh. Thank you for so many things. You're my favourite curly-haired, Little Britain-loving, cricket playing, Eastern Cape accented, merino wool-wearing, techno-listening, drum & bass knee-dancing man, in the whole world. I just frigging adore you.
Bless your cotton wifebeater. The one you wear just to get my reaction. And I don't think I'm alone here. With that reaction.

Right, so what is love? (Baby don't hurt me.....)There're a million and one definitions of love, so here're mine:
Love is finding his untimely flatulence adorable. Love is meeting someone on an aeroplane you didn't want to have anything to do with, then (ok.....this is embarrassing...)....then just before the return flight, spraying your perfume on the blazer he leant you over the weekend before you give it back to him. And my best mate caught me doing this. How embarrassing.
But what the hell, it's V-Day, so there you are.

What are you doing?
Nothing. Nothing.
You just sprayed, ha ha ha, YOU JUST SPRAYED HIS BLAZER WITH CHANEL CHANCE, Oh My God Peas, that's hilarious.
No I didn't.
The bottle is in your hand, I just caught you, oh my God, you LIKE [Mr 747!]
NO. I DO NOT. I just wanted to make sure...it smelt nice before I return it. I WAS BEING CONSIDERATE, Poen.”
You like him, you like him, you like him...
OK shut the fuck up. I have to sit next to him again on the aeroplane. Please just hush. This is ludicrous anyway, we know I can't go there.
You like him, you like him...
WHA-EVA. ....But if you tell him, I'll die a slow and painful death in seat 15C.

Blind one. Love is letting them believe their historical fact is right, by pretending you know no different. Love is them feeding you, mouthful by mouthful, while you drive back from a party at 2:00am.

Love is physically aching when they're away. Love is still asking them how they take their tea, because sometimes they like milk and sometimes they don't. Love is sucking it up when they see ex's, but still getting jealous deep down inside.

Love is somehow managing to pop their name into a sentence every five minutes. Meetings, bathroom queues, the Samoosa Lady... Love is not only accepting their bunion, but finding it sexually attractive.

Love is feeling projected and endless sadness for them when they're sad. Love is thinking about their legs All. Day. Long.

Love is them being the first person you call when:
You get big news
Have a crisis
Have to tell someone something hilarious
Sky News says another tube caught on fire [Love is] Two persons who have chosen each other out of all the species with a design to be each other's mutual comfort and entertainment have, in that action, bound themselves to be good-humored, affable, discreet, forgiving, patient, and joyful, with respect to each other's frailties and perfections, to the end of their lives. - Joseph Addison.

For the Lionel Richie in all of us. (He lives within. He does. You just deny him that's all).
Happy Valentine's Day!

the cheese platter

Haven't been cheesy in a while (or have I?), but it's nice to talk about lovey stuff when you've spoken about so many cynical and heartsore moments in the past.

Cheesiness once in a while warms the cockles. Cynical stuff makes my heart go hard and I get depressed. So while in the moment – let's talk cheesy. Also it's Friday. And after a long week, my brain hurts.

Relationships aren't easy things, as idealistic as they are. They take work, compromise, sacrifice, compassion, communication and a lot of love. The latter is what it's all worth working for. Love doesn't happen everyday to everybody – hell, it saddens me to know that there are some people in the world who'll never experience love at all.

It hurts like a bitch too – but love really is an incredible thing. That you can take two people, in any one place who will meet, and 9 times out of 10 never speak again. The one odd – the one – is that the two actually connect there and then. Maybe a tenth of an odd that they'll actually fall in love. A twentieth of a chance thereafter – will the love last, will the two be compatible forever after? Will they be able to ride the storms? If they can – like 80-year couples who are still together – then wow. It's very rare these days. But not impossible. Which is why even though I am tormented by constant hang-ups, I know they can be softened. I am in love after all. And that is what makes life whole.

It's worth the risk if it brings happiness, right?

Shit this is cheesy.

Anyway, there are things I love about a relationship or being close to someone. End-of-the-day phonecalls, emails while you work, having someone's feet touching yours at the end of the bed, kissing and all the physical stuff, and sharing personal jokes.
Laughter is so important – I've heard that from lots of people lately. “We're doing great, we laugh at each other all the time,” or “Thank God she makes me laugh.” Or even, “He actually laughs at my pirate joke, no one has done that before.” That kind of crap. Laughter is a big one.

Love is also for the brave. You have to open up, you can't not. (Usually I find it hard to hold it all in – but I'm more cautious now.) If you don't open up, you don't experience it full-throttle. And what's the point doing it in half-measures?

It may leave a big gaping wound if it ends though, which will make the room spin, and you'll want to vomit and you'll cry for a while and drink shitloads of alcohol, but it's all worth it.

Right, no more Lionel Richie for me.

PS: I mean Lionel Richie and a glass of wine.