"Love? What the hell is that?" She asked as we stumble upon the staggering darkness near the front porch of their house.
The darkness swallowed everything- the light coming from the streetlamps was not enough to lighten up everything- from our surrounding up to the heaven and sky. She once asked me about their difference and I told her that heaven is where God is supposed to be living while sky is that physical thing that we see from here where we can see the moon, sun, stars and clouds. I know how much she loves looking up at the sky, probably why she wondered about their difference.
"What if I don't believe that God lives in heaven, then heaven becomes a metaphysical thing? Why is it that many people use those two words interchangeably? Does that mean they don't believe in God? You sometimes do, in your pieces." She often asks me questions like this, as if I know all the answers because I write. "Oh come on. I know you have more ideas and knowledge than me," she would say.
Every time, I would just stare at her, wanting, each time, to tell her...
"Hey, do you believe in love? I mean, you write mostly about love and the sorts. How is it? You ever experienced?" The darkness around us was blinding, except that it made a perfect view of her face in front of me. I stared at her for a moment, before looking up, then cleared my throat, which I tend to do before speaking.
"I do."I'm a romantic, I almost added up.
She crumpled her face and sighed. She looked up at the sky (heaven?) and said, "I don't believe in love, honestly. But I sort of believe in falling in love, and crushes, you know those things, you write about them. But say, love like true love? I think there's no such thing. Compassion is, I must say. Don't people stay with each other because of compassion? Because they need someone to talk to, to be with someone for the rest of their lives so that they won't ever experience being lonely. Yes, people do fall in love. But people do fall out of love too, don't they? Sometimes, in a moment, a minute, an hour, a day, or in a short amount of time. And that is different from love."
She talked with conviction in her voice, while I listened. I do most of the listening in our conversations and I got no problem with that for I love listening to her ideas.
"I sometimes think about getting myself a boyfriend when I'm feeling lonely so that I would have someone to tell everything to. Or to marry someone, so I would know there'd be someone who would always be with me. Don't you wonder about that?" This time, she looked straight into my eyes, her eyes waiting for me to talk, to really talk.
I shifted my gaze and stared instead at the ground which where I was supposed to see the grasses or plants that would make my awkward act like I am amazed as to how beautiful those living creatures are. Then, the clearing of my throat resurfaced in the air.
"Hmm. I also wonder why I write about uhm, love. Maybe, it's just my thing, I guess? I mean, I'm kind of a romantic, L. I read about love, wrote about it. If you don't believe it, I prefer if you would think that you don't believe it yet. Just, you know uhm, think about those people who believe in it, why would they think that love is true? Ain't that magical enough?" I failed, I wasn't able to explain my thoughts explicitly, again. This thing always happens and I hate it.
"That's a good point. But what about those who thought they had it, yet ended up breaking apart? Is that still love?"
"That flinching moment. That sudden, loud knock at the door of your heart. That trembling hand. Terrible heartbeat. That feeling of being more than alive. When you're in the moment, the shortest time ever, yet everything is vivid. It's not something that can be explained thoroughly through words. It's a feeling, L. You might think it's just falling in love, but for me, that is love. Certainly, people do fall out of love but it doesn't mean that whatever happened in between is not true."
This time, I stared into her deep, brown eyes. She was staring back, stunned, probably, because of what I just told her or because I opposed her idea. In her eyes, I couldn't see myself, yet I am trying to convince her that love is true. I wanted to tell her, to let her know, that she made me feel what she does not believe. But I couldn't.
In between writing these words, I am hoping that she would be reading. Here, I can tell her.