Love is love, hands down. It exists in all possible forms, and I revel in its intensity, allowing myself to romanticize endlessly and dwell in its depths as far as I wish. Yet, to me, there is a distinction. I can fall in love with someone I don’t know. I can. But I can’t love them. It’s not about knowing the person either. I won’t focus on the necessity of knowing aspects of them. It’s just that I believe I should feel the person. Not mentally, not physically – but soulfully.

If I haven’t even talked to that certain someone, if I haven’t noticed how they react when they’re among people who make them feel comfortable or uncomfortable, how they linger among the crowd, how they reflect upon thoughts of everyday simple matters, how they look me in the very eyes – there’s just no way for me to sense something that extends beyond knowledge itself. It’s something which lies underneath, and to me, that something is love. These subtleties are necessary to be explored in order to reach loving as an act and a process.

I can fall in love and make up whoever I want to make up inside my head, and I’m entitled to feeling and to absolutely everything, but – Love? Real love? Real love involves the very essence of the other person. It involves rhythm, connection, a flowing substance, two hearts palliating and interacting together. That’s merely my humble opinion, of course.

© Beatriz Esmer

Dry Pastel Art – Love