When love comes to town


A while ago, two people from two different parts of my life met and fell in love. I was their common denominator but as soon as they saw each other I quickly ceased to exist. Love is a powerful and blindsiding beast it seems.

A few months later I saw them again and they still only had eyes for each other. Their public displays of affection were so beautifully obscene, in my horribly jealous opinion, that I regularly shouted “get a room dudes” at them as they pawed each other like pussy cats trying to find soft sexy spots to fall asleep.

Many months later still, these two people are now one couple, living as one household under one roof, and are still into each other as much as they were that very first day. I don’t make fun of them anymore because I now only have to call one phone number, instead of two, which saves me both time and money and I am, after all, part-Scottish.

Back then, during long phone conversations with one of the parties, I would listen and provide helpful advice but my ability to identify with their blossoming love story was limited because I didn’t think I’d ever felt like that about anyone at all.

Sure in various states of drunkenness over my two-plus decades of dating, I’d pronounced to my family and friends that I’d found “the one” only to be single again in two minutes, two months or two years. I seemed that he was always Mr Right Now and very little else.

About four months ago, I said to a girlfriend who was having boyfriend trouble that the next time I had love in my life I would cherish it and I would nurture it. But first of all, I said, I would do whatever it took to make sure he was worth the effort before giving up part of my soul again because I didn’t know how much more of my soul I had left to give. I am so pleased that I have stuck by that pledge.

But now today, I fear, I have turned into one of those dreadful love-struck Romeo’s sarcastically mentioned above. It must be karma. Admittedly, my newfound relationship has yet to go public – well apart from me writing about it in my blog but surely that‘s not the same thing? So at least I don’t have to worry about embarrassing myself by lustfully staring at my paramour – let’s call him B – in a variety of social settings.

Indeed public outings have been relatively limited thus far. Most of the time we just hang out at our respective homes and talk about almonds, about altruism and about awesomeness. And then before we know it, the time vortex beats us up yet again and it’s past midnight on a Monday night and we’re illogically shaking our heads at what the fuck happened.

While it’s still too early to know whether love has come to my town just yet, the denouement – to use a wanky screenwriting term that makes me sound like a dick – of the situation appears relatively clear. That is, we know we both like each other a lot, and that every night we spend together seems to pass much too quickly, while every day we spend apart seems to pass much too slowly.

I really have no idea what it all means. But for possibly the first time in my life, I am trying very hard to not over-analyse or over-dramatise what’s quickly becoming a soul-enriching experience.  Each day brings with it new information and new feelings, but also a new awareness of what might be possible, maybe one day.

But one thing I do know is that, like BB King once sang, if love does indeed come to town, I’m gonna jump that train. If love comes to town, I’m gonna catch that flame. What a bloody great idea.

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