I am a watcher. I see the world at times, like now, and I see things, almost randomly. More importantly, I find that I take notice of the signs around me.
I find that the timing is perfect.
It is easy to notice the typical things on the New York City trains or to see the usual suspects on the subways. I see this all the time, and I’ve been seeing this for years.
However, there is often something to be found. There is often an unexpected flower in unexpected places. And yes, there is often something to see, which is enough to be moved or enough to signify that the world is a good place.
There are beautiful things to see and while love can come under fire, and while love might not always conquer all, even still, there is proof that love exists. There are signs all over which offer at least a touch of inspiration that yes, here is hope. Despite the way things may seem at times, no matter what, love is real.
I know it is.
I can recall, years back, and remember the young teenage couple on the subway. This was either the 1, or 9, or this could have been the 2 or the 3 train, but either way, the number of the train is unimportant.
This was a great thing to see.
I watched two kids have a little picnic on the train. They did this, as if to make an everyday trip and turn this into something meaningful and romantic.
I noticed them eating from a picnic basket. I noticed the way they shared their food. I saw the care they showed to each other, or the effort of love’s generosity. I saw them feeding each other and thought about how their love could rival and surpass anyone in the adult world.
This was real.
They were quiet and he was a gentleman. She was his girl, to which again, I say that even Shakespeare would take note of them and be impressed.
Or maybe this is only me. Maybe I was impressed.
Or maybe I admired them. Or perhaps I envied them as well.
The truth is I swarmed with different ideas about them. I imagined the different possible scenarios of the two and how they managed to maneuver through life.
I saw this as a man who never experienced the rites of passage when it came to young love. Or as someone who never had a real date until I was older, or as someone who lived with a skewed belief of love and romance, I viewed the couple with a warm heart.
But more, I could see how love can become the fountain of youth. And more, I can see how the lack of love can turn us old, or leave us to die alive.
I got out of work late last night . . .
I noticed a young couple waiting to board a train from Grand Central Station. They were sitting in a corner with their backs to the wall and their large, oversized umbrella was spread open in front of them. I noticed how they were somewhat hiding behind the umbrella, nestled together in a corner, snuggled tastefully and waiting quietly for the next train to leave on the Long Island Railroad.
I appreciated this.
I appreciate the hope that they inspire.
I appreciate that while it is said that youth is wasted on the young, I see this as more of a sign that despite all, love is real and, yes, love is out there. Even more, love is the tonic of youth and wild, and love can change the face of our common tragedies, and make them into silly little nothings.
I would never tell anybody about this.
I would never say much to anyone about this because I have fears that this makes me less of a man, or less or a person. Maybe I am afraid that this makes me look desperate, as if I want this too much.
However, more than the need to feel loved and more than the desire to see things from a better perspective, the truth is I want to feel young too.
I want to be free. I want to be enthused.
I want to be blown away by the simplest things, as I had never seen them before.
I want to be wild, and I want to dare.
I want to dance in the rain. Better yet, I want to dance (or sing) with someone, like no one is watching. At the same time, the entire world can watch, and I wouldn’t care.
Who gives a shit?
Not me.
I’m with “my girl!”
Let them see.
Let them see me this way.
Let me be like a kid again and not care what the teacher will say because I decided to cut class or play hooky with “my girl!”
I want adventure, which is not to say that money is the answer.
No, I think fun is still free, at least I hope it is.
This is not to say that some adventures aren’t worth the money. Perhaps the advantage of older love is that we can still feel young, but we can afford something more than a subway ride Downtown.
But no, I think some of the best times in life are the moments we share when we make the best of simple things.
And I can dig it.
I love this lesson.
Even if this comes from teenagers or young couples, I’ll take this lesson and run.
I never want to grow old.
I never want to become so old, or jaded, that I lose my youth to a dying mindset.
I never want to believe that romance is limited, and age can steal our passion, like a theft of service, or dry us up, like a leaf after its fallen from the tree.
I am rebuilding and circling back to self, which means that I am still me. I am still lost at times, which means that I am still hopeful. In my recovery from disappointments in the past, I am and I will always be a hopeless romantic.
And that’s good.
I want to be a kid again.
I want to have that feeling as if I could dare the world and be unstoppable.
And I get it.
I know what has stopped me before.
I know what fears tell me.
I know all about the insecure notion that says, “all good things come to an end,” and sure, I know all about the rules, which states, “whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.”
And who knows?
Maybe this is all true.
Maybe everything could fall apart.
Maybe I have farther left to fall before I land and realize that I have everything I need to be loved. And more, maybe today is the day I realize that I have always been worthwhile (at least to you).
I swear –
a person can travel the world a thousand times over, only to come back to the beginning, and realize that we have always had exactly what we needed. Or, at least I do.
Here is what I know:
Love is living and breathing. Love grows. Love changes, adapts and at least when we talk about true love, or when we talk about the bonds of being soulmates, love might not conquer all, but in my heart, I know that real love can never die.
My love is not perfect, and neither am I.
My love is a child’s love, hopeful and pure, but I admit that I have kept this hidden.
I have guarded this for too long, or kept this away from the light, in fear that I am not enough — or flawed.
My love is like the sun during the first warmth in springtime, and so, my love can thaw the earth. If given the chance, I know that my heart can signify the rebirth of life between us.
My love is no different from the two kids on the subway.
I want to try simple things.
I want to indulge in the purity of something simple, like sharing a soda with only one straw.
I don’t want to grow old.
Or maybe I don’t want to become loveless or lifeless.
I don’t want to force the occasion or push this in any way. And I certainly do not want to waste another minute or be miserable (ever again).
I am a work in progress.
I agree.
I might not be smooth, and it’s been a while since I’ve danced, but if I’m being honest, I could use a dance in the rain right about now. If not, I could use a hand to hold, a hug to warm my bones in the December air, or a soul to side with, and someone to walk with me, someone to love, to laugh with, or if and whenever possible, at least share a basket of fries with me. . .
’m open for any of the above –
(if you are).
The Written Addiction 