Why are there so many love songs?
Why all the flowery poetry, the romanticism, the obsession with the lovey dovey?
It’s because of those few rare experiences that exist on the edges of language.
Those moments when you know that you’ve had an experience, when it feels so fucking real to you, but it seems impossible to describe.
It’s that one look, the one passing glance that sticks in your mind for weeks, rattling around as your brain searches for the right words.
Frustratingly out of reach.
It’s when no simple set of adjectives or similes could ever explain how you felt in that moment.
It wasn’t “passionate.” It wasn’t “intimate” or “longing” or “joyful.” It wasn’t “like a ray of sunshine” or a fucking “breath of fresh air.” She didn’t just look over. She didn’t just smile.
And so our minds struggle, day after day.
Replaying the same moments.
Watching the same memory loop over and over.
Wondering if it really ever happened like you remember, on the edges of language.