The Woman in the Kitchen Told Me

Maybe it’s our culture, but maybe it’s our species that is bad at falling in love. Everywhere I look I see people consistently failing at it. We approach love backwards, we’re trying to light the filters of our cigarettes, trying to hang paintings on smooth walls.

You or I will walk into a party or a bookstore and inevitably someone will catch our eye like a hook catches a fish lip; this is usually the first of many erroneous falling dominoes. You’ve met a stranger and you’ve imagined wearing them around town, and you’re beginning to hope that they won’t be a stranger for long. You can be cautious, if you’re wary of the other party discovering your lusting, if you’re wary of their knowing that you don’t know them at all. But with luck you’ll find that their looks aren’t their only appealing characteristics, with a little luck you’ll find parallels between the things you both appreciate. Perhaps you’ll discover that they’ve been to all the places you’ve been, and that they want to go to all the places you want to go. Perhaps you’ll make unbiased observations, in spite of your wanting to seduce the unknowing individual. Perhaps, after a few months of cautious prodding you’ll convince yourself that you’ve found the one, perhaps you’re ready to find out if the feeling is mutual.

And it is.

You’ve exchanged words in line for coffee and you went on dates and you’re in love, everything fell into place, everything is perfect.

It’s a reality, love at first sight exists outside of Hollywood.

But I think you’re building a house out of sheetrock, trying to save money on lumber. I think love hides in the old world, the world you knew as a child. Love rests on the branches of the friendships you had before you had the capacity to care too much. Love runs through the sprinklers, and you lay it down on the sidewalk. Love comes first, you love first and lust after. It’s far too easy to pursue the love of those you’re attracted to. The brave seduce the people they know they love.

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