They say there’s nothing more mysterious than the vagaries of the human heart, but it’s not for lack of writing. Writers practice philosophizing on the topic of love and fumble toward platitudes: “Love is never having to say you’re sorry” or “love is being stupid together” or “love is the only thing that lasts.” But Kant thought justice was more important than love, and he died of starvation. That’s what I’ve read, anyway. His last word was “sufficit” — “it is enough.”
[Clockwise from top left: Mountain range cushions from Accordionapparel; Victorian silver locket from Treasurebooth; Vintage brass box from Onebag; Light grey Icelandic sheepskin from Thecreeksedge; Sequined silver panties from Knickerbocker; Irish wool fisherman’s sweater from NOSTALCHIC; 1904 gypsy set diamond ring from PastSplendors]
What would we write about if we didn’t have love? How would we explain our foolishness? When I roll over at night and scooch onto your pillow, and you make a space without waking in the cavity of your arms, what would I whisper to you?
[Clockwise from top left: Origami lamp from Nellianna; Robert Indiana “Love” 1970s ring from Mythunderstood; Bunny ears cotton linen sleep mask from Naomilingerie; Magic star pin from Adelocreations; Geode bookends from Ten22home; Heart knitted pillow from MinusColor]
Maybe it’s too easy to have such a flexible word that encompasses so much. Is there anything that can’t be a metaphor for love? What about papery thin garlic skin, and leek greens, and other parts that can’t be eaten? There are these moments when I wait for you to fill the silence, as I wait I can see the horizon of this relationship, and it looks lonely and calm. The feeling rests there, indigestible.
[Clockwise from top left: 1940s Spanish bullet bra from Blessthatdress; Handmade leather wallet from YvoYipOriginals; Recycled 22 karat gold ring from Peacesofindigo; Plain hammered gold vermeil band from OhKuoi; Love bears mini notebooks from ReadyGo; Vintage arrow brooch from YesterdaysJewelry; Gold lace knickers from HoneyCoolerHandmade]
I love the way you look so unfamiliar when you stand up straight, how you get your jeans mended over and over again, and how you never cried as a baby except when the wind blew in your face. Kant wrote of things we just have to accept not knowing, things beyond our capacity for certainty and our concepts of what it means to understand, like space and time and whether you’ll still love me tomorrow.