The Portrait of Love — 20th October

It’s strange that love is the most common theme in literature, yet everyone’s love story is so special, unique and beautiful.

Photo Credit: Bauhaus101

I didn’t want to leave bed. Sleepy, tired, lazy — the mood in which I was. My unconscious was more active then. It needed some time to switch into the dominance of my conscious and reality. I’d been reading for years how creative people were happier, more productive, more real in their unconscious state. Not to mention the artists’ ongoing desire to numb their brain with alcohol or drugs to produce creative works. But, hurray! I was happier when my conscious was on-position. I realized it with the smell of freshly-brewed coffee coming from the small kitchen of my new home in the artisan street of Istanbul.

My eyes were still closed but my lips started to take their shapes to experience the most peaceful activity of humanity — to smile.

Then I heard him, and the sound of coffee mugs knocking each other. My mom gifted me a mug set for my new home. There were four mugs starting in turquoise, waving in blue and ending in grey. They were my favourite colours, these colours were the reflection of my soul. So, I used to call them my pantone.

I opened my eyes finally and saw the human being from whom I learned all about pantones — their function, their usage, their importance; how even one tone of blue would change the whole meaning of a brand. They were all so meaningful, I liked all the creative stuff. But I thought I loved them more because he was teaching me. I loved how excited he got when he explained something he adored and saw that someone understood and adored it as well. He would smile without half-opening his lips, I always thought the reason as his shyness. That’s why I never asked him. I didn’t want him to feel uneasy. I wanted him to be natural, to act like himself. So, I adored his excitement, his way of explaining things, his smile and his shyness — more than pantones.

“Morning lady,” he said trying to find a place for himself in the bed. I opened a place for him, “thanked him for the coffee. He knew how to wake me up. He was a lifesaver. Though he thought that I was thanking him for the coffee, there were lots of things I was thanking him inside my mind and my heart.

I thanked him for teaching me how the design was reflected in the life and vice versa. I thanked him for revealing both childish and mature side of myself. I thanked him for helping me both let things go and take responsibility. I thanked him for listening to me, but more for talking to me — opening himself to me.

I thanked him for including me in his life and taking such a huge part in my life. I thanked him for his blurred and gleamy eyes while he was looking at me. I thanked him for peace I felt when I hugged him. I thanked him for making my reality more joyful, full of love. I thanked him for making me feel excited to wake up each day.

I thanked him for teaching me how to define and express my feelings whereas he waited patiently and listened to me if I wasn’t able to accept my feelings.

I thanked him for being my first heartbeat, my first source of trust and happiness. I thanked him for building the notion of home including two of us.

Most importantly, I thank him for teaching me how to love as to love someone deeply is the most beautiful, most delicate and most passionate part of this life.

“It has made me better loving you. It has made me wiser, and easier, and brighter… It’s just as when one has been trying to spell out a book in the twilight, and suddenly the lamp comes in. I had been putting out my eyes over the book of life, and finding nothing to reward me for my pains; but now that I can read it properly I see that it’s a delightful story.” — Henry James, Source

M.A. Student, Writer, Human Being

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