Love, Actually

I always cry at the end when Colin Firth proposes to the Portuguese girl in the restaurant. The light is beautiful and the gravity of what he's clumsily yet endearingly saying to her has everyone in the place spellbound. Just to be close to that, just to be in the same room as something like that, that's good enough for me. I just want to be one of the people in the restaurant who happen to be there when he walks in and makes his speech to her. Love is all around me, in all its forms, and it's okay if someone else doesn't need me the way I think I need them, at the same time, in the same place. It's okay.

I love Love, and it's okay if it doesn't love me back the way I think I want it to. I love Love just the way it is, even though it's tired of me mishandling it every time it comes around, and even though Love has been cruel to me at times, too. Love is pretty much done with me, but is willing to just be friends. We crossed the line too many times and it just didn't work out. It's all water under the bridge now though, and we're cool. It really isn't too weird. I'll always care about Love, but it belongs with someone else.

Love and me, we weren't meant to be.