The little things

What is it about silly romantic B- movies that can make someone like me, whose skin has been thickened by many an ordeal and considers herself a strong person to tear up silently?

It must sound ridiculous, to tear up at an imaginary situation, with imaginary characters, and an imaginary love. But that is, alas, the case.
A fantasy of sorts, having someone be head over heels for you, setting up the building roof with lights and a dinner to surprise you, leaving notes where they know you'll find it, walking the extra mile to show you they would do so for you, simple gestures, glances, touches that fill the heart like nothing else does.

Despite the ridiculousness of tearing at a B-movie, I've come to realise that it is not as a sign of weakness or naivety. No. On the contrary, it is a sort of mourning, a wish, an extra jolt of adrenaline in the race to the end. The race to being happy with your heart. After all, it is at the core of you, literally and metaphorically. It's a reminder in a way, of what some of us really would like to feel.

"But these things don't happen in real life."
Perhaps not always. But aren't movies supposed to be imitating life? Someone must've done it, or thought it, or seen it happen for them to write it up, cast it, direct it.

I don't know why I'm writing this post, I don't know what compelled me to write it. But I suppose this is just what this blog is for...

So why not fall into the moments of "you complete me" and "olive juice" and guitars in front car seats and take them for what they are ...

After all, it is the little things that count.