sweet nothings

a book of love stories and a solo aperitivo

You’re very aware of the way you act. Almost too aware.

My friend tells me one night.

I have been on the opposite side of the world for only 72 hours and I have walked 30,000 steps through the Melbourne streets. We’ve consumed 3 different smoothies and have had a productive solo aperitivo where we read a book on love stories and chatted with the man next to us. A pink linen dress hangs in our closet for an Australian summer, a new yellow journal sits on top of my bedspread, and a bouquet of dried flowers hangs on my bedpost behind me. 

I listen to The Weeknd’s Faith on my AirPods while I pay my bills. I wrap my hair in a messy bun, and lay upside down in a bed that isn’t mine.

There are two ways to get to know someone - first, see which passages they underline in books, and second - ask them to tell you their greatest love story.  

Can I be honest with you? Everywhere I go, I would tell myself - this is what I need to forget about him. To hop on to the next bus, the next plane, the next train. All moving towards the next space and the next adventure. The art of movement will rid my mind of him faster. He was only on my mind because he was there, and I was there, too.  

But no matter where I am. 

In line to order take-out, buying new towels, or meeting a friend at a cafe. He is there. And if no matter where I am in the world, he is there - then, maybe, it was real. And the reality from those memories comfort me now more than the dreams of romance ever will. 

It was real, wasn’t it? 

The book of love stories remain open as I eat breakfast. Black coffee, poached eggs on sourdough with a side of avocado. On page 103, I underline: 

Everybody should know what it feels like to be given a rose, at least once in their lifetime. 

The 9 am sun hits the page. The old couple sits next to me with their tea and toasts and his coloured socks. 

I text my friend. It’s tomorrow’s morning here, and yesterday’s afternoon there.

"Can I tell you something? I’m like, really happy.”

Maybe we never needed confirmation from a stranger to be happy. Confirmation from the sky that it was okay to turn to page 104, and that our world wouldn’t crumble when we bought the linen dress and dried flowers for ourselves.

Maybe we never needed him to tell us that he knew. Maybe he knew all along.

He asks me what I’m reading. I stop eating and pick up the book to show him.

“I think you almost have to forget about it to find it. And then the universe will pop someone in one day, and then you’ll be like - oh.” 

I know he doesn’t believe me. But I’ll still carry the book of love stories around the house.

I just feel like everything becomes more beautiful when we try less and less.