Setting: My favourite park.
Scene: A freezing foggy night, time was around 12.08 AM.
I was on the swings, obviously. Back and forth, back and forth, with my hair forming a mist around my head, which was bent with eyes closed. And then I felt the stirring of butterflies in my stomach, the whoop and rise that you feel when the swing oscillates. And I got to thinking, right there, with my eyes shut tight against the frost filled air, that love is kind of like being on the swings. The setting somehow is always a figurative playground, more often than not, hosting games, tactics, wins and losses. And the very feeling, the sensation is just like that. A quick rise, and suddenly a fall, when you least expect it. You swing backwards, you’re on top of the world, and you can breathe in the whole night air if you wanted. And then the dip comes. The rough part, where you feel unsure and like you could just fall off the swing if you don’t grasp it properly. The quick plunge, suicidal enough in a context, and then a rising again. The dying, again and again, and yet still living. Going forwards, then backwards, and so the same dance repeated a million times, until you decide you’ve had enough, and stop swinging with all the force your feet can muster. Friction against the ground, struggling to stop something you started, and finally, stillness. Being in love might make you crazy, with its dips and rises and the butterflies and insecurity you feel. But falling out of it is a mental decision, just like stopping a swing is a conscious one.
And what about the ones who don’t wait for the swing to slow? They just jump off, whooping, laughing and fall to the ground. Unafraid, unassuming and brave. Stronger than others, they have their lives in hand. They conquer love, not vice versa. But I’m not of the latter category. Are you?