This Moment. Right Now.

first-kiss

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. She half turned away awkwardly and then as if she had suddenly thought of something, she looked right back at him again. He knew it was now or never. He decided it was now.

He leaned in and kissed her.

Not the kind of kiss they show in the movies.

A soft kiss – almost like a caress.

Like a gentle breeze that blows across your face and you close your eyes involuntarily. Like tiny drops of ice cold rain – full of unspoken promises.

The kind only the very young can experience. Or the very innocent.

For a few moments he felt the sky had opened up and every tiny star had come out to applaud. He felt himself levitate and defy gravity for seconds or minutes or hours. He wasn’t sure which. He knew for sure that if he let go of her, he would fall to the ground. Every cell of his being felt transformed.

And yet when he opened his eyes and pulled his face apart – he saw her face was clouded and her eyes were welling up with tears.

What is wrong?

Did I hurt you?

Did I do something wrong?

She shook her head. He held her by her shoulders and pinned her with his troubled gaze.

Tell me. Why are there tears in your eyes?

Because I will never experience this again. 

This feeling. 

This moment. 

It is over. Forever. 

There can never again be a first kiss. 

There can never again be this sweet longing laced with uncertainty. 

But there will be many more moments. Of tenderness and love. And Passion. And Togetherness.

Yes there will. But this.. this moment right now is the sweetest and the purest of them all. I know that even without experiencing the others. 

There will never be another like this. 

With you or with anyone else. 

Conversation 5 – Of the True colors of Love

Image

The Kiss is an 1889 marble sculpture by the French sculptor Auguste Rodin. The embracing couple depicted in the sculpture appeared originally as part of a group of reliefs decorating Rodin’s monumental bronze portal The Gates of Hell, commissioned for a planned museum of art in Paris. The couple were later removed from the Gates and replaced with another pair of lovers located on the smaller right-hand column.

What’s this for?
 
Isn’t it obvious? A red rose. The universal symbol of love. 
 
You subscribe to that? Really? I always thought it vaguely morbid. I mean red as a symbol of love? Red – the same color as blood?   
 
So what would you have as the color of love then? Yellow? Black?
 
At least not the color of fury anyway. 
 
So which color then?
 
White.
 
White?
 
Yes white.
 
Such a dispassionate color for such a passionate emotion?
 
Who says it is dispassionate? It just happens to be deceptive. Hesitant to reveal its true self. Just like everyone in the first flush of love. 
 
Still. I am not convinced. Go on though…
 
 
White like the color of innocence. Because who else but an innocent can fall in love? Love thrives on naiveté.
 
White like the color of snow. Beguilingly beautiful till exposure to too much gives you a frost bite that makes a part of you just die. Love is cruel.
 
White. The color of surrender. Of the ultimate defeat of ego and pride. Of the relinquishment of superiority and its quest. Love is partial to the undistinguished.  
 
White. Like a blank canvas. Open to any hue that its painter-lover cares to color it with. Ugliness or beauty is not demanded or controlled. Just accepted. Love is in love with the malleable. 
 
I could go on you know.. but I think I have made my point. 
 
Partly. What about passion ? Doesn’t love involve passion? Surely passion cannot be white? 
 
Why not? What is passion but something strong and barely controllable?  Isn’t lightening white? 
 
Isn’t passion considered heat? Isn’t white hot considered more intense then red hot? 
 
So white huh? Guess it will take a while to wrap my head around the idea. Of course Love is blind as well. So colors shouldn’t really make a difference. Any color is just as good or just as immaterial as the other.