I fall in love too easily. No, not in a romantic way, and not necessarily with anyone, but in the way that makes me wonder why I find everything so beautiful. I think of this inability to understand such a thing as quite problematic.
Some people would call it an emotional observance of the world, of the things in it, of the people that occupy it. I call it problematic, but beautifully engaging at the same time.
I love the way the rain drops flow so gently down the surface of windows, and how the wind becomes an artist of some sort that weaves these drops of hydrogen and oxygen molecules in their diatomic qualities. The ability the wind has to pit these drops of water against one another in the race to reach the bottom of a window outside on a car door.
I love the way an eye can change colour in the sun, or, reveal its true colour in the beam of the ultraviolet rays. Almost making it seem as if it finally had the ability to come out of its shell, as if its been waiting for this moment; the moment when somebody comes along and gives it the ability to love itself, to shine a light on its beauty.
I love the way the mud moulds itself to footprints when it rains. It assimilates so carefully to capture the raw shape of the foot's print. The imprint that characterizes its very essence, but distorts it with how much pressure is applied to sink it deep enough for the person to make a mark, and not fall too deep into the obsession of becoming their own. Everyone has footprints everywhere, anyway.
I love the way people are the way they are. No matter how irritable, no matter how charming, no matter how idle and expressionless. They are who they are, and I love that.
I love the way someone cares, the way they ask you how you are, how you felt you did on a work, how you were when they weren't around.
I love. I call it problematic.