If love is in the air

I was scrolling through Pinterest when I stumbled upon a screenshot of a sweet text message exchange between a couple. What could easily have been the peak dialogue line in a rom-com had simply been typed by some guy from—let’s say Michigan, chilling on his couch after work.

It got me thinking about how some of the greatest love songs, books, and movie quotes are hidden in everyday conversations and mundane moments. How we are all poets, especially when we are in love.

Looking at the state of the world: its wars, greed, throw-away and hustle culture, it’s easy to feel pessimistic. Easy to feel like somewhere down the line, people stopped deeply caring. About making things that last. About honourable behaviour. About each other.

But then I get on the train, and while I’m struggling to get my bag up in the overhead storage space, a man runs over, eager to help. On a walk, I pass a mailbox with a bouquet of wildflowers sticking out of it. On a driveway, the words “Welcome home best neighbour” are chalked in pink. Lying in bed, I watch a video of a kid holding an umbrella over a cat in the rain.

We might be people who fight and take advantage of, who care about likes and looks and big corner offices. But we are also people who put pictures of loved ones in lockets and wear them around our necks. Who write signs next to gardens saying stop and smell the roses. Who put glow-in-the-dark stars on our ceilings, and candles on birthday cakes.

Love is everywhere.

It’s hidden in my dad’s grocery store receipt with my mom’s favourite snack typed on it. In a bookmarked tab to check how a friend's football team is doing. A dropped glove hung over a fence so it can easily be found again. A special someone’s city added to a weather app. A comment section full of people tagging their friends.

Tiny. Unseen. Private. Gestures that don’t scream for attention, don’t make any headlines, but are grand nonetheless. And it’s like the sound of hitting a golden coin in Super Mario plays when I shift my focus away from the chaos and clowns; a reward for noticing the secret details. Some confirmation saying: yes, you got it—this is how you win the game.

And I could be sad that it’s not me. I could look at the group of teenagers chatting enthusiastically while sipping on hot chocolate beside me in the coffee shop, and feel lonely. I could long for whatever that girl leaning on her boyfriend’s shoulder is feeling. But I’m happy for them. Happy because their energy fills the air—and if love is in the air, I can fill my lungs with it.

People are poetry. Or rather, poetry is people. And sometimes I'm sad or mad or tired or annoyed, but I love you I love you I love you I love you.

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