Here’s to Love

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I’m...in a really weird mood. It might be on account of the Blue October that I’m currently blasting off the house stereo. Haha. Probably.

I wanted to talk about love, because love is...well, all I’ve written about for the longest time. But before I get into why (mostly because I barely know why) I just wanted to pay my respects to the thing that pulls us all down to that certain level of...what’s the word I’m looking for? Unity. Here’s to what unites us as a world, as nations, as families, as friends, and of course as lovers. Here’s to what makes us human.

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Here’s to the butterflies you try to ignore, but they’re still there anyway; tiny little wings beating against the walls of your stomach. The ones he’s going to deny to himself; the ones that she will come to expect. Here’s to the courage that compels her to start up a conversation—regardless of the fact she’s scared out of her mind, and the same courage that pushes him to ask you out.

Here’s to the things that attract you to each other; his crooked smile, her fiery attitude, his bright eyes, and her melodic laugh. Here’s to the quirks you find you weeks later; the way his ears turn red when he’s embarrassed, the way she bites her lip when she’s indecisive. Here’s to the songs that seem so pertinent and the one that will eventually become your song. Your song will reverberate off the walls; so loud you’re probably going to go deaf, but right now it’s so worth it.

Here’s to the improbable, the impossible—the real attraction that some will object to—but it’s there. Here’s to the way you doll up to the nines, but it’s really pointless because they will call you beautiful (or handsome) any day. Here’s to how they change you; from quiet to daring, from conserved to reckless—here’s to the fact that sometimes it’s the other way around. Here’s to the truth that sometimes you’re jealous, and no matter how adamantly you lie about it, they can always tell.

Here’s to the delight that glows in her eyes when she’s happy, the smouldering, dark colour of his when he’s angry and emotional. Here’s to the way he pushes you out and still ends up letting you in anyhow, to how she runs to you for comfort, and the amazement you feel when it actually works. Here’s to the reason he goes out of his way to make you laugh and smile, why you give so easily when she looks at you like that.

Here’s to the way you crave their company when they’ve just left you mere seconds before, how everything seems different when you’re together; the way minutes feels like hours, the way summer nights are so much shorter, the way every single moment is important, memorable, a blessing. Here’s to the way she fits into the space between your neck and shoulder, like it was made for her, the undeniable yet unbelievable truth that whenever you’re in his arms, you always feel safe.

Here’s to their smell; cologne, perfume, that little something that you can’t name; sweet, intoxicating, dizzying. Here’s to the lip gloss marks she leaves on your cheeks, the burning kisses he trails from your chin to your ear, the cold shivers when he whispers your name, the warmth that spreads from your heart all the way down to your toes when she says it; when he says it.

“I love you.”

Here’s to why you never get tired of watching her sleep, why he has that insatiable urge to be your hero, never mind the fact that you’re no damsel in distress. Here’s to the revelation that you can love who you never thought you would; the jock, the nerd, the cheerleader, the loner kid, the emo kid...here’s to the destroyer of labels and preconceived notions. Here’s to the stupid things you do, the giddy nervousness, and the overwhelming sense of calm. Here’s to the roller coasters and the sunsets, the midnight skies and the gravelly morning voices.

Here’s to the petty fights, the explosive break ups, and the emotional make ups. Here’s to the person you were before and after, and the person you thought you were, once upon a time. Here’s to the fronts you put up and pull down, and the one who can see through them without any kind of trouble. Here’s to the goofy smiles you don’t even realize are there, and the sparks that are all too apparent.

Here’s to all the memories; the happy ones, the sad ones, the ones you can’t forget even though you might really, really want to. Here’s to the tears you promised yourself you wouldn’t cry, but as soon as you’re alone, they fall for the unfeeling walls of your bedroom. Here’s to the makers of those tears. Here’s to being a masochistic and taking the pain even though you know its coming and it’s going to hurt. Here’s to the texts, the phone calls, the photos and the diaries—the documentation—that either you force yourself to burn, or are unable to throw away.

Here’s to the way you keep coming back. Even though you know you shouldn’t.

Here’s to the way you can no longer live without it, even though you had your entire life before.

Here’s to what doesn’t make the world go round, but what makes the ride worthwhile.

Here’s to the greats: Romeo and Juliet, Robin and Marian, Tristan and Isolde, Jack and Rose, Elizabeth and Darcy, Edward and Bella.

Here’s to a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person, and a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection.

Here’s to Love.

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A good friend of mine told me I was making up for not being allowed to date. Sure. Maybe that's true. I'm not allowed to date, and it probably does bring out something in me. But to be honest, the real reason I write romance stories is because I'm a really naive girl who thinks that love is that thing from movies and books, that should be declared and cherished and spread everywhere, that brings chivalry back from the dead and something like true happiness that much closer.

I believe love should be all those things above. I don’t think love should be about money, or convenience, or fighting, or watching people walk out of your house and just forgetting it when they come back like nothing ever happened. Love should bring us together, not rip us apart, as cliché as that is. Everything about love is a cliché, if you think about it. But isn’t every cliché derived from a truth?

So, as you've probably all figured out, I've never been in love. I'm still waiting. I'm waiting for the boy who can love me despite the fact that I'm short and average-looking and random and sometimes a little crazy. I'm waiting for the boy who will accept the fact that I love to write mushy stuff, and that the people I really hold most dear after my family of course, are a bunch of guys who got me through everything.

Feel free to disregard this. I was just feeling really weird today. Oh, and I don't own the quote "Love isn't what makes the world go round, it's what makes the ride worthwhile" or any of the couples and/or affiliations above.

Annie