I was listening to the latest Coldplay album (which, again, I'm sad to say I was very underwhelmed by) and I had a thought; a Confucius moment, if you will. I posted it on my status and my mom commented that I must be feeling good again, judging by the positiveness of it (though I was more referencing the stories of others present). Perhaps, or perhaps it is just beautiful logic. I thought:
Here's the thing about a broken heart; it just marks the number of times you can fall in love again.
Which is wonderful thought and sentiment, if I don't say so myself (which, clearly I do). Love is great and all and it's nice when it's comfortable, but that fall, the initial butterflies in the stomach? I would lay down my heart for that feeling forever. Infatuation turned real is impossible to put into words. Some people fill their time (and perhaps lonely nights) with people unworthy of those moments; I sit and wait in anticipatory excitement with the realization that because I'm alone, my great love is still out there somewhere. It makes my shoulders bounce at the idea, the to-be's and flutters abound. I am happy alone, you sly 28! So, for me, anything less than butterflies and a heart that makes mine beyond mend, and flourish and love more than what's broken it before, won't do. Wee! Time will tell if there's a person out there that can make me happier than I make myself; but I'm a hopeless romantic and happy to hold out - I believe in the stars.
Thanks for the thought Chris Martin. But if you could go back to the days of Parachutes, that would be great. Nothing has lived up to that so far...then again, I fell in love for the first time while that album was on repeat.