A video I came across today stayed with me longer than I expected. Maybe it's because my heart has been tired lately, and I keep wondering whether love always has to carry so much helplessness. I don't know. Sometimes I want it to be simple—clean, without any grit mixed in. But is that even possible?
Meeting. Taking each other's hand. A quiet hug. It all sounds so natural. Is that simple love? Maybe. Maybe not.
Someone once asked me, “Do you know there are two ways to hold hands? Which one are you?” Then he took my hand—sometimes leading, sometimes following. Neither was the way I wanted. I like it when two hands open and the fingers interlace, each finger holding and being held, every one leaning on the others. Tight. Close.
I like holding hands with you simply, hugging, and staying like that. Just like that.
Often the person who loves you is right there, but the one who twists your heart and keeps you awake is someone else. You cry for him. You grieve for him. You give and ask for nothing back. You think this is love, but it is only human nature: what we cannot have looks best. What comes easily, we rarely know how to treasure. While we get bruised, we are also bruising the people who love us deeply. Love has always been a roundabout thing. Maybe in one moment you suddenly see: oh—you were here all along.
Love is a meeting, a kind of fate. As long as you feel it, as long as your heart can still listen, as long as my shadow keeps drifting through your mind, all your regrets about love will fade. The most beautiful part, the best part, is exactly this: when you hear, I also see. And then we meet.
That is the simple love I mean.