How love is like a run.
On your mark…
Today, while I was at work, my co-worker and long time friend’s new relationship blossomed before my eyes. I have seen within the last 8 years a lot of genuine moments in her life when it came to love, but today was a beautiful and heart-swelling day. Her recent beau had stopped in, then an hour or so later, as I unpacked shipments of vitamins, supplements and minerals. I heard my named being yelled. This at times brings bad news but today was different. Sarah was standing by the counter with two bouquets and a vase stuffed with roses, and a beautiful array of flowers. Her face burst into a smile. “Who sent those?” I asked as she held out a bouquet and said “These are yours. Who do you think?”
Indeed, her boyfriend had sent three separate arrangements. One for our boss, and one for my friend and one for me. Then a note in two and one a letter. Sarah read me the very last line and four words in I burst into tears. “No.” I said half laughing half sobbing. “I cannot, Sarah I cannot.” I was overwhelmed, completely, and couldn’t take it. Everyday I had watched this friendship blossom into interest, and then head over heels in love.
I couldn’t deal with all the reminders of my blossoming love, and how stale it could be, and was a year and some later. I had flashbacks to all my past experiences, whether authentic, inauthentic or otherwise. My first adult love, or should I call upon the cliche, I was in love with the “idea” of us.
I remembered how I was with my ex, and how things had just never had the chance to grow. There was little to no communication on things that seemed general for others.
It’s all different I suppose. I find myself wanting the sprint, craving it. Why? Because I am young and I let foolish romantic ideas fester. Sometimes, during a long hot day you let yourself feel a little crappy, as to why you aren’t finding someone who sends you love notes on flowers. Or even a rolled up receipt with a scribbled confession of affection.
But some people don’t get the sprint. The 500 meter dash. Or even the run downhill, caught up by the force of gravity. We get the cross-country meet in the pouring rain. The marathon on the hot asphalt. We get the obstacle course of forest through the woods. We get the incline, in the cold winter morning, our breath sucked from our lungs. It’s all different.
I am in no way a runner, mostly because I have come to the conclusion that nowadays, I only run when being chased.