I envy them their public love. I myself have only known it in secret, shared it in secret and longed, aw longed to show it- to be able to say out loud what they have no need to say at all: That I have loved only you, surrendered my whole self reckless to you and nobody else. That I want you to love me back and show it to me. That I love the way you hold me, how close you let me be to you. I like your fingers on and on, lifting, turning. I have watched your face for a long time now, and missed your eyes when you went away from me. Talking to you and hearing you answer- that's the kick. But I can't say that aloud; I can't tell anyone that I have been waiting for this all my life and that being chosen to wait is the reason I can. If I were able I'd say it. Say make me, remake me. You are free to do it and I am free to let you because look, look. Look where your hands are. Now.
Never before have I read a more perfect last page to a novel. These are the words of Toni Morrison, beautifully written for Jazz. These words have taken me to a magical place of awe. How does one even describe what these words inspire? It reminds me of an unsent love letter. Or perhaps a letter sent too late. I am reminded of how I wished for public love. I did not want to have my first love be in secret. These words plead and beg. "If only, if only, you (the lover) would understand how much I love you. If you could understand these words, understand the pure desire of your love, maybe I could say it out loud. I will wait because there is no one else that makes me feel this way" Everyone face this moment in life. Whether it comes as the moment you realize you love someone or the moment you know you will never be able to tell that person you love them, everyone feels it. I do not know which scenario is worse. These words make me think of the person I love now. They make me not doubt, finally, my feelings of love. But also, I am reminded of that first love. I feel as if when time passes one starts to doubt whether one truly loved an individual. I am experiencing that now with my first love, but when I read this passage for a second time I remembered his face. So what is worse: knowing that not only your love, but the relationship you had with your first love will always be a secret- it will never breathe the fresh air, be warmed by the sun or is it worse to be afraid to do the always difficult task of telling a friend you fell in love?
That I have loved only you, surrendered my whole self reckless to you
That I love the way you hold me, how close you let me be to you.
I have watched your face for a long time now, and missed your eyes when you went away from me.
Talking to you and hearing you answer-
I have been waiting for this all my life
Love is alive in simplicity. Love is when that person takes up your mind. It is when he or she is the first person you turn to tell good or bad news. Love happens in the everyday. Love is when all you need to survive - to be happy - is that person everyday laying next to you. Because seeing that face, hearing that laugh, holding that person or resting your head on that person's chest takes you to a magical place, a place of beauty that reminds you why exactly you are here on this earth. You wait. You will wait forever, if that is what it takes. Because no one will ever make you feel that fire in your heart, hearing another name will never make you smile like theirs.
"The best love is the kind that awakens the soul, that makes us reach for more, that plants a fire in our hearts and brings peace to our minds." - The Notebook
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