the beginning of a love story
I don’t know what I can compare this feeling to. What looks like it the most. To a sting? A burn? A bruise? A nagging pain? For an agonizing wait… Surely it is all of these at once. Is it the bite of love, already? Its beginnings… This feeling both so exhilarating and so gripping. Ubiquitous. That becomes almost obsessive. Both beneficent and disturbing because it makes you vibrate, feel alive. But to know the birth of these emotions, these feelings, we must go through this sometimes distressing phase of waiting.
It’s part of the game of love, it creates the lack of the other, it intensifies the relationship, it gives it meaning. Would we love so much if love wasn’t a feeling so close to suffering sometimes, if it didn’t torment our minds and hearts so much? Ah, the agonizing wait for news from the other at the beginning of a love story.
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Tame and trust. (the beginning of a love story)
“He’s going to send a message. He will call. He said he would. Be patient. Does not send a message first. Yes, you are dying of envy and you promised yourself to be yourself in this relationship unlike the previous ones where you suffered, sacrificed yourself. Where you were no longer yourself, in which you got lost. It’s all over you promised yourself. Stay yourself. Natural. Spontaneous. sincere. Whole.
But being yourself doesn’t mean being stuffy, transferring your buried fears about this new relationship and subjecting it to your fears because of what others have done to you. You were disappointed, hurt. But let us not confuse everything. It has nothing to do with it. Be yourself but don’t rush anything out of fear. Trust yourself. And to him too, a little bit.
Think about meeting you. Simple, natural, funny. To this feeling without fuss, without immediate stakes or unhealthy game. You hooked well, he told you, the feeling is there. He asked for your number, he asked to see you again. And he came. And it was there. This ease, this complicity, as a beginning of familiarity. That cannot be explained. Don’t get carried away. Not yet, not right away. (the beginning of a love story)
But yes smile and enjoy, you have the right to tell yourself that it feels good, that it’s nice to be on this little cloud, this ridiculous smile frozen on your face that will intensify if he gives news as he promised. Last night he said he would send a message to say that he had returned and he did it right? Well then… Be patient. What are you thinking about? At these shared moments… His look, his smile, his laughter, his voice, his expressions, his smell. His caresses in the hair, his tenderness. His kisses on leaving. It was a beautiful evening. And there will be others.
The phone vibrates. The smile is accentuated, the eyes shine; you sparkle. The perfect midinette, all that is missing are the butterflies in the belly, the knotted throat, the lack of appetite and the head elsewhere… Beware it’s called love.
It’s him obviously. Present as he had said. A next appointment? A kiss after work? A cinema? It does not matter as long as the discovery is prolonged…”.
It is painfully pleasant this expectation. (the beginning of a love story)
What a paradox. What a contradictory perception. It stings but it feels good. Because we feel expected. Valued. Interesting. Desired. And because we feel the same way. This thing so obvious and yet so difficult to find, this disorder that makes us hope and that we want to feel for a long time.
This kind of torment of love, at least its first emotions… It always or almost always goes through this agonizing wait. When you don’t hear from them, the minutes seem like hours and the evenings endless…
But this is normal. You don’t go into someone’s life without a transition period, without adjustments. Sad pragmatic reality. Schedules, obligations, constraints. Which seem so un important in the face of the beautiful things felt. But you have to adapt, to deal with it. We let the other into his head and heart and we want a beautiful reciprocity. It’s sometimes fast as love at first sight, sometimes slower as a maturation. It is a question of temperament, of lived experience too. But as long as we are on the same wavelength. As long as the wait does not become suffering. That this is not an unhealthy game of cat and mouse. “Follow me I flee you, flee me I follow you.” Synonymous with imbalance. No thank you. (the beginning of a love story)
The expectation is beautiful when it is shared. Moving, thrilling.
When the next appointments resonate like reunions even if only two days have passed. When the lack sets in. When desire takes up all the space. When the need to be with the other is so present that we barely leave each other that we already think about the next time. The expectation of love. It’s so beautiful. And we forget it so quickly. That’s too bad. Because these sensations are unique. Those sighs, that breathless. Then this smile, this pleasure to meet again.
This expectation is beautiful when you see it in the eyes of the other. When the most mundane appointment becomes an imperishable memory. When these memories are added one by one to give birth to a relationship. When the wait becomes lacking. When presence replaces more and more absences. When everything converges on this common desire to be together. To expect. This feeling that we have been waiting for for a long time and that we have finally found ourselves. (the beginning of a love story)
Words are little to describe the intensity of this feeling. I am expected. He is waiting for me. And I’m waiting for it too. This expectation of the beginning is then no longer synonymous with an unpleasant sting, an underlying anxiety. But from a burn that warms and spreads painlessly… That makes us vibrate. Breathe fully. feel. To love. live.
“It started from an evening where our paths crossed and then synchronized to allow us to meet.”
It has become a palette of different colors depending on the degree of expectation, the emotion felt. Red, pink, purple, blue, yellow, orange. Passion, tenderness, warmth, well-being. A real rainbow. No gray or black. Nothing to overshadow this expectation of love. (the beginning of a love story)