I've recently realized that I suppose one could say I am on a faith, hope, and love journey. I know that the journey is supposed to be the best part, the memorable part, and yes, I suppose that's true. (A lot of supposin' going on there, I know.) After all, we LIVE in the in-between...the dash between your date of birth and your date of death. But I liked the bit before, before the end, before the now. I liked the bit where my life had a love that was true, a love that was real.
My Caribbean boyfriend acknowledged that perhaps I fall in love too easily, but as I've noted previously, I don't want to change. My passion, my pain, and aren't they often the same, is what defines me...for better or for worse.
One of my all-time favorite movies is City of Angels, because "some things are true whether you believe 'em or not." I still feel the same about him. "I would rather have had one breath of her hair, one kiss of her mouth, one touch of her hand, than eternity without it. One." What is the truth? Was it the beginning, the in-between, or the end? Will I ever really know? Am I supposed to know?
So sometimes I cry. "Maybe emotion becomes so intense your body just can't contain it. Your mind and your feelings become too powerful, and your body weeps." I cry because I still have faith in my love. In my love for him and with him. And isn't that the most pathetic thing you've ever heard? But without my love for him, I don't feel, well, real in the in-between.
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