Love stories

I am a sucker for love stories. I can never get enough and try to find them everywhere.

It is morning already and I sit on a chair, sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee. I close my eyes for a heartbeat and listen. Birds sing in the nearby trees, insects buzz, the wind barely blows and cars roar on the street. It is quite early, about six, and I am taking my time to sort through my thoughts. Two members of my family are still asleep. The cat and I stretch under the warm summer’s sun. The cat likes hanging up with me, probably considering me one of his buddies. He hates being ignored, and if I dare to do so, he rolls at my feet, waiting for his fair share of stroking. When he has enough, he turns to the door. I know that he is telling me that he will like to go outdoors. He has  trained me well for the past seven years. He leans his small furry head on one side, ears perched, and he waits. A faint meow comes from his throat, and I realize his patience is running low. But somehow I know that he will always love me.

With him gone, I return to my chair and look at the flowers I have in the pots. All of the sudden, I see this tiny bird, not taller than one of my fingers, with a beak as big as its body, flying around me, inches apart from my face. He travels from one side of my face to the other one. I don’t dare to move. “Hi, little one,” I finally say. He looks at me funny. I think he has developed some type of attraction since our “affair” is going on for weeks now. When he sees me coming out of the house, he pops in my face. After our daily ritual of hellos and nice seeing you too, the bird ignores me and turns his attention to the zinnia. An impossible lover! He sucks nectar from the flowers and flies back to the trees. I wonder where his nest is or if he has someone waiting for him.

The bird is gone, and I witness another love story unfolding right under my eyes, between a handsome butterfly and a flower. I discovered that butterflies lived for ten days at the most. I always assumed that the ones I saw every day were the same butterflies. I watch him landing on flowers, wings spread like a colorful blanket. The faint wind tries to separate him from his chosen one, but he stands firm on top of the sprout. After he has had enough, probably got somehow bored, he flies away. He knows that the flower will wait for him. It sometimes happens that the plant dies in about the same time as its admirer, another one blooms, and a newcomer takes his place on romancing the plant.

I tell myself that this is the cycle of life and that there are stories all around us. We just have to give them a chance. Nature and humans are forever connected. They draw strength from each other, they lean on each other in their hour of need. I am a devourer of impossible love stories, especially when I can’t guess how they will end.