It happens in every movie, in every romance novel. The point when the hero or heroine suddenly realizes that they are in love. At the big dance when the sweet All-American boy is startled to discover that his best friend is not a little tomboy any longer, but instead has blossomed into a beautiful young girl, one that he has unknowingly fallen deeply in love with. Or when the career oriented twenty something girl looks upon the man that has driven her crazy, and is amazed to find that he is everything she has ever or could ever want.
It’s the Moment when love first awakens. When the first spark of true love has shone in the heart promising of a bright and glorious future. The Moment when the world seems to be going in slow motion. When each second seems to last forever, and yet, that is not nearly long enough. The Moment that a familiar smile is all of a sudden the most beautiful thing in the world. When it finally makes sense what all those silly love songs are really talking about. The Moment has to come. It can come for both people at the same instant or two Moments may come, separated by years of waiting and wishing and hoping.
I have tried my best to create this Moment on my own. When I have fancied myself madly in love with someone, my mind spins like a screenwriter, director and actor all rolled into one. I would be dressed in my favorite outfit, having the best hair day ever, and I would say to myself, “This is it. Today will be the day. The Moment will come for him today.” I just know that the world will freeze and everything else will disappear. And slow strains of music will come from nowhere, slowly building in a crescendo. Just like in a movie.
And I wait. The perfect breeze comes along, tossing my hair playfully away from my face. It would be in that moment when he turns and our eyes meet. Then I would smile brilliantly, dazzlingly. And he will be left speechless in my wake, unable to think of anything else for days. But the breeze comes, and leaves, and no one turns around. And I am left there, with my favorite outfit, and perfectly wind tossed hair. But it’s just me. But next time, I tell myself. Surly next time will be the moment.
The
next time would come and go. And
then a moment of despair when I feel that my “true love” will never really
see me. But that moment passes as
does my affection for that certain someone, and a new “true love” comes.
So the cycle goes, on and on. Perfect
situations that would make a storybook Moment.
Each one passing quietly, unnoticed by anyone but me.
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