Love could be love both in a pair of blue docker’s safety trousers, and in a loose necktie of a man standing by a grand piano, having just seen off his most important guest.
But it makes you weak at the knees, it makes you walk more slowly than usual, take off and throw away the most expensive heels you’ve ever bought, running away in the middle of the party.
It makes you pull back your hair, eat Chinese takeaway standing by the flower vendor and listening to the story about his long-lost love…
It makes you buy a backless dress (when it’s minus ten outside), just so that he could see you in a dress.
It makes you see him rarely.
It makes him be silent and you twice more.
It makes the eyes speak.
It makes you go at the very same time in the very opposite directions of the world.
He trips over the foot of a passerby. He apologises.
You trip over the foot of a dog. It looks at you and seems to forgive you.
You are both forgiven.
The world is easy.
Love has a subtle scent.
It drinks coffee without sugar. Or cappuccino with a lot of milk.
Love has no fashion and no means.
Love squanders. And is the greatest possessor.
It doesn’t think.
It can make a docker a millionaire.
And an empress – a match vendor.
To hell with it, love can make anything happen!
As long as you can make it.
Text: Eva Koleva