Posts tagged love.
I hate that everybody sees us together and can’t help but smile. I hate that my hairs literally get all over him and I’m always picking them off. I hate the way he looks at me when somebody says something funny to see if I’m laughing too. I hate the way I see myself in him. I hate the way he knows me better than anybody ever has. I hate the way he admits it too, ‘I’ve spent every day with you for the past six months, I do know you.’ I hate the way we look into each others eyes and that it feels like home. And what I hate the most is that I don’t hate any of it at all. I absolutely love all of it. Every single piece.
Dear Mr. Vernon,
I don’t know if I’ll have time to write any more letters because we accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in detention for whatever it was we did wrong. And what we did was wrong. I might be too busy trying to participate. But we think you’re crazy making us write an essay about who we think we are. So, if this does end up being the last letter, what do you care? I just want you to know that I was in a bad place before I started high school and you helped me. You see us as you want to see us. Even if you didn’t know what I was talking about or know someone who’s gone through it you made me not feel alone. In the simplest terms and most convenient definitions. You see us as a brain, an athlete, a basketcase, a princess and a criminal. Cause I know there are people who say all these things don’t happen. Correct? And there are people who forget what it’s like to be 16 when they turn 17. That’s the way we saw each other at seven o’clock this morning. And these will all be stories some day and our pictures will become old photographs and we’ll all become somebody’s mom or dad. We were brainwashed. But right now these moments are not stories. This is happening. I am here and I am looking at her and she is so beautiful. I can see it. This one moment, but what we found out is that each of us is a brain, and an athlete, when you know you’re not a sad story. You are alive and a basketcase, a princess, and you stand up and see the lights on the buildings and everything that makes you wonder and you’re listening to that song on that drive with the people you love most in this world. And a criminal, in this moment, I swear, we are infinite.
Does that answer your question?
The Breakfast Club
the love of my life.
“You’re only two years older than me, darling — where have you been all my life?”
— CHRISTOPHER PLUMMER, receiving his Oscar for Best Supporting Actor for his role in Beginners. At 82, Plummer is the oldest actor to ever receive an Academy Award.
Romance is something that I’ve never experienced in my life. It’s sad, because at heart I am such a romantic. I always hoped for deep love, but I got skipped over somehow. There was the Depression, and then the war, and life just had hard edges. Romance, or the chances for it, just passed me by. So here I am, eighty-three years old, and still waiting. To me the Sound of Music is the most romantic movie ever made. I’m like a dreamy kid when I watch it. I’ll put in the video on three or four times a year, and it always picks me up when I’m feeling low. It awakens my heart.
I think I would swoon if someone were to put their arms around me and hold me as the Captain does Maria. It’s never happened. Still, even though it hasn’t, the movie makes me feel as if I know how such a romantic encounter would feel. When Maria and the Captain realize they are in love as they dance at the party, and later, when they admit it to each other in the gazebo, those scenes satisfy a need in me.
If I had been blind from birth, and suddenly had sight, and saw the color red, even if it was just for an instant, I would always know what red looks like. The movie has done that for me, I believe I know what love, real romantic love, would feel like. The Sound of Music taught me the color of love.
Though firemen saved the rest of the house, the interior of her bedroom was destroyed. So, just weeks before Christmas, I got a call from Libbie. “Can you handle this right now?” I quickly redesigned the room, helped her pick out some new furnishings, and got subcontractors to start repairing the damage immediately. I hired Guy, a painter I had used several times before, and who I knew would get the job done perfectly and quickly.
When I introduced them, I had no idea that Libbie looked into his blue eyes- and fell in love. She’d never had such instant feelings for anyone before, and at first she tried to ignore them. But every day, when she came home from work, Guy was there finishing up, and she was so glad to see him. Then, on New Year’s Eve, she came home and he was gone, his work completed. She realized she would never see him again- and she also realized that she couldn’t live with that thought. She called me and casually said, “Charmy, what can you tell me about Guy?”
“Didn’t he do a good job?”
“Oh yes, he did great.” She hesitated. “Charmy, I think i’m in love with him.”
A week later, she called him and invited him out for dinner, and it turned out that everything she was feeling for him, he was feeling for her. They haven’t been apart since.
There has to be a moment at the beginning when you wonder whether you’re in love with the person or in love with the feeling of love itself.
If the moment doesn’t pass, that’s it—you’re done. And if the moment does pass, it never goes that far. It stands in the distance, ready for whenever you want it back. Sometimes it’s even there when you thought you were searching for something else, like an escape route, or your lover’s face.