I love to be in love.
Seemingly insignificant actions become potential signs of mutual interest. “He was looking at me!” or “Our hug was definitely longer than normal,” are given as proof that the butterflies are also flying around in the stomach of the one who caused them in your own. Words are taken more seriously when there’s a possible double layer and the smallest gestures enjoy more attention when there’s a chance of a symbolic message of affection.
This is why I always want to be in love with life.
I enjoy life like the sun woke up this morning just to kiss my skin,
like the wind only blows to play with my hair,
like the rain only falls to sing me a soothing lullaby.
Wouldn’t you pay more attention to those daily events when they were crafted just for you? What if life’s beautiful accidents are a message of love written on purpose? If the sky was painted specially for you as a declaration of admiration, wouldn’t you pause and stare for a while?
I’m caught in a romance that wraps around me and alters my perspective. I am and always will be in love with life.