All these words, all these tears, the sleepless nights, the sleep filled days, the manic depression—it all fades away when I see wintry frost on her eyelashes. In the blink of an eye the boulder resting upon my heart reforms into a ladybug only to open her wings and lift away.
When she’s not around my heart feels things only in black and white. She’s either far or near. She’s either wrong or right. It’s either love or, well, less than love. But walking in the sun with her I feel all the color she brings into my life, into the situation, into my mind. Her color swells inside of me and the rigid lines of pain and resentment are washed away.
In a world where things have borders, limits, and edges, I find myself wanting more and more to blend and bleed into the lines that define this colorblind life. The past few days I’ve realized that black and white, while easier to denote, is not what love always is. Each different person in my life offers a unique shade that creates emotions, happiness, and love that the brushstrokes of Monet or Klimt could never reproduce.
And after the rain has fallen and the clouds have slipped away, I’m left rain bowed by the people in my life, intrepid, certain to be standing.
"Do you mean what you say?" he asked.
"From the moment I was born," said Florentino Ariza, "I have never said anything I did not mean."
The Captain looked at her...then he looked at Florentino Ariza, his invincible power, his intrepid love, and he was overwhelmed by the belated suspicion that it is life, more than death, that has no limits.
"And how long do you think we can keep up this goddamn coming and going?" he asked.
Florentino Ariza had kept his answer ready for fifty-three years, seven months, and eleven days and nights.
"Forever," he said.
- From Love in the Time of Cholera
No comments:
Post a Comment