Love, On Superstition

As sixteen year-olds, we lit red candles at the old cathedral because we were told that they were for love. We did not even clearly know what it was about love that we wanted.

Eight years after, he knocked on my car window and asked me to roll it down. He stuck his  head, almost in a cartoon-like manner, and asked for a kiss that I was always ready to give. “I have read that when couples kiss before they separate ways, car accidents are less likely to happen.”, he said walking backwards as if shying away.

In the impossibility of hindsight, love thrives. As it needs no warning signs to be. In defiance to warning or advice, love takes form. You don’t have to see it in its totality before deciding whether or not, it is worth the foolishness. You just find yourself levitating in a trance. It’s insane that in love, even superstitions make perfect sense.

No amount of axioms can put into perfect logic how one really loves. For it is the language of the heart and not of the mind. This is not to be confused with intoxication, where one is ecstatic and impulsive. In fact, it is the opposite of that. Here, nobody is enslaved by impulses.

I love you.

There is only certainty and commitment.

It is I who loves you.

It is you that I love.

It is love.

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