It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;-- it is disposition alone

"It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;-- it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others. " -Marianne on Willoughby in Jane Austen's  Sense and Sensibility

My cousin Alex's sand artwork

When I met my ex-boyfriend we exchanged many letters expressing our feelings for each other and delving into details of our days. Our phone conversations journeyed to the edge of the universe, touched on the  intricacies of love, involved  animals and their various propensities, fumbled upon funny stories about ourselves, and never once did our lips run dry of words. In truth, our topics knew no end or depth. How had I managed to meet someone who connected with me on many different levels? Despite the long distance, at the time,  we still managed to learn of one another's sensitivies and subtleties. Even in the end, we remained friends, understanding that life has a way of tossing obstacles our way so that we can grow, and sometimes that growth means recognizing that you both served a purpose by being in each other's lives.


 Love starts off, for most, as unexpected, then a giddy feeling in the pit of your stomach, beat of your heart, and a slight tingle here and there. Fanciful thoughts seem to sprout from nowhere as you imagine you and your targetted beloved holding hands, enjoying a dinner, movie, ice cream, and other minor adventures. Through your conversations, once you detect the slightest hint of interest in someone who you're clearly interested in, that's it, you're enraptured, but simply won't admit it. At least that's how it happened for me. Afterwards, we exchanged long heartfelt humurous letters, enjoyed conversations that saw the break of day (literally), played various online computer games while on web-cam, and simply enjoyed each other's company. Suddenly, we were "in love," (haha). Our relationship was by no means perfect, but all that mattered was that at certain moments we made each other happy. I remember him saying that one of the best feelings was seeing me smile and knowing he was the reason that smile was there. I understand him, because it feels great the moment I walk out my door to see a huge grin spread across his face. We make each other happy, what more could we ask for?



Several years ago, I attempted to describe love (forgive the rather hyperbolic language at times. Just try and get the gist of it):


I cannot tell you what love is, nor would any description do it justice, but I can tell you what I think love is. 

One of the most beautiful gifts given to mankind is love. The person I am is the fruit of the lessons learned from my family and friends. They have imprinted themselves permanently in me, becoming the beat to my heart, the rhythm to my walk, the comforting hug, the gentle kiss, the child-like smile, the pleasant thoughts, the forgiving nod, and every other mannerism that is me.

Love is the fuel, that energy that no one can live without. Once discovered it is priceless. It gives us an irreplaceable oomph, that optimistic “I Can Fly” feeling. Love is all the virtuousness done without a single thought. It is the ability to trust someone with your life, with your secrets, with your past, with the mistakes you have made and having faith that they will not ever betray you. It is those tiny pastel colored butterflies swirling around and dancing within you, being playful, innocent, and cute. Even when those fluttery butterflies decide to go on vacation, love becomes fiery arguments, a waterfall of tears, and an earthquake of fears and regrets that helps us to grow.

Love is learning to absorb the harmful rays of words, to realize that they were said out of anger, to forgive and finally to forget. You forget because you realize that time is valuable, that tomorrow may not come, and that we are flawed, vulnerable human beings. Love is taking the time to reflect, listen, and share. It is not being afraid to walk around with your heart out on your hand but the freedom to be open. Love is the sight to see the perfection and uniqueness so intricately stored within each and every one of us, and then letting your feelings of appreciation shine.

Love is a hearing the sound of a person’s voice who makes your heart skip a beat or two. It is that irresistible desire to want and pick up a phone to see how your loved one is. Those grimy thoughts of white lies and other forms of dishonesty that so crudely stains humanity, fade, blockaded by the purity of love. It is the willingness to sacrifice yourself because they mean more than the ground you walk on, because they are the reason you walk on that ground each day. It is that jittery, bounciness of happiness, surging through, jumping up and down, that propels us to want to do the most ludicrous of things. Love is warmly clasping a hand and never wanting to let go, or that gentle kiss that sings “You mean more to me than you could ever know,” or the tear droplets with the message of “I miss you,” or that tight teddy bear hug that says, “Don’t leave me,” or the dancing sparkle of the eyes resonating with, “You’re amazing.”

Love is happiness and the unity to stay together no matter what tribulations decide to come your way, because without your loved ones, there is no life, no giddiness, no will, no respect, no wants, just an unfortunate unwelcomed void of solitude and sadness.

Sand-Dollared Cataract by Sofia Mitchell is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.