I just finished a book that was assigned to my English class called Like Water for Chocolate by Laura Esquivel. It's quite a short book, separated into 12 chapters, each named after a month of the year, and beginning with a recipe.
I like the book a lot. It made me sad. No, no it didn't. It made me think, and wish.
I want to fall in love like Tita. I want to glance at Pedro and exhange something completely otherwordly in that look. I want to feel the energy, fire, skin, sweat, sweetness, bitterness and everything else that comes with that love. That'll be it. One look, and I'll know, he'll know that this is the best we can ever get. That this is for us. Nothing else would matter, it would all be sorted out eventually but this is what you have to do, this is what you're both meant to do.
Love is too complicated nowadays. There are so many things that factor into it. We can't just choose love, crude and raw and bare. Neither could Rosaura, because she was not Tita and she didn't have a Pedro. Even if we don't mean to, we think about how the other person looks or portrays him/herself in society. We think about their wealth, if they can provide for us, though that's more 1950's than now (with exceptions). We think about what others will say. We think about where everything will lead to, how things will turn out, how soon is too soon, and all other kinds of ridiculous things.
I really, truly just want to be swept away. I want my fire.
However, that only happens in books where there is no limit or rules to love, lust, death, life, words, food, looks, places, dimensions and anything else you can imagine.
So for now, I'll be content with what I can have. I have to go pick up my own wood, and make my own fire to which I can draw someone, like a firefly to a flame. Or vice versa. Then we can sit around it, listening to soft music and saying nothing. Smoking, thinking, reading, painting, living, hallucinating, messing up and finally falling asleep.