Love is a swirl of warmth. Image by Mark Knol via Flickr.
It’s that blasted window that refuses to stay shut that’s letting the cold wind invade your small flat you deduce, while grumbling about not feeling your toes because really it wasn’t your choice to have the floor covered in oh-so-white-and-oh-so-cold tiles, now what was the problem with using wooden planks again?
You pull the thick blanket around you, taking in the smell of the Baklava you shared months ago under the starry skies of Istanbul. That soft sweetness isn’t there and logically you know it can’t be, not after the trips to the dry cleaners over the year. Also your nose is running so it’s not like you could smell it even if it was there.
Slumping your head on the end of the couch you decide to have a staring contest with the clock, willing the minute hand to go faster…..not that it works, but it takes your mind off of things.
It’s the soft click by the door that pulls you out of your trance and you huff indignantly at the man hanging up his coat in the closet.
‘I hate you.’
Your scathing comment is met by a raised eyebrow and a low chuckle.
‘I really do you know.’
‘Yes, yes, I know.’
A small thud and you try your best not to look even mildly interested in knowing what is inside that big bag. But like always you are terribly easy to read, or at least to him you are.
‘Chicken soup, steamed dumplings and those spicy tempura fries that you never get enough of.’
You can practically hear the smile in his voice.
You reach out to grab the plastic bowl of soup all the while mumbling about infuriating know-it-all and stupid cold and the life of being an adult and God knows what else, only to have you hand swatted away.
The heat behind it is somewhat more pronounced simply because you are hungry and really what kind of person stops sick people from eating?
Apparently the answer is a certain editor flashing a crooked smile and sporting far too much joy in seeing you like this.
‘Fine, fine. I shouldn’t have been in the snow for that long no matter how many amazing photographs I took. You were right oh noble one, now give me my soup!’
Dragging your legs back to your body and curling into a small ball with a head and two hands sticking out, you stare at the man on the other side slowly taking out the utensils and dishes. A small bowl of steaming soup is pushed into your hands and the usual customary warning, ‘It’s hot, try not to scald your tongue.’
And you do just that simply because he expects you to do the opposite. It takes all of your ‘maturity’ not to stick you tongue out and go “Hah!” when the lukewarm liquid makes it’s way into your stomach sans the scalding your tongue part.
Content now that you are warm to the tips of your fingers and the takeaways have magically taken care of themselves, you lean back against the warm arm next to you.
‘Aren’t you supposed to, I don’t know, hate me?’
You only snuggle a bit closer in response.
You’ll blame it later on the cold or the tingling feeling in your chest but it still doesn’t change the fact that when that arm gently wraps around you, softly stroking your hair, you think perhaps you don’t really hate him that much for leaving early and generally making fun of you the past couple of days…
But you won’t say it out loud to him. And really what’s the point of saying ‘I don’t really hate you’ when you have already booked the plane tickets to Rome for your fifth anniversary?
I get very clingy when I have a cold, something that gives my dear sister headaches when I latch on to her saying, ‘I’m cold, and you’re warm, staaaaaay!’
Love is more than saying ‘I love you’. It’s about living and loving at the same time after you say those three words. I wanted to start a small series about how I see love and where I find it, I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it.