Thursday, October 18, 2012

Crinkled love

The desk in the study is by a window commanding a view of our street and the pedestrian street opposite.  When I'm working from home, I feel like a nosy neighbour, sitting there, staring out of the window...waiting for the inspiration to come...or just trying to decide whether certain sentence would be better starting with however or furthermore - and usually coming to the conclusion that it is probably best without either!

 As I've spend a long time writing recently (thesis does that to you), I've also become expert about the comings and goings on the street. A little old lady who does a daily food shop at the same time every day, mums and toddlers wondering past on their way to the park, man taking his dog for a walk.

Today, I saw an old couple walking own the street. Holding hands. And it tugged the strings of my heart. There was something in the way they looked at each other smiling.

She wore black leather gloves. He was tall. Both of them still had a spring in their step that the drooping shoulders and greying hair had not banished.

They held hands. Not because they were old and crinkly and needed to lean on each other for support. But because they had love.

Even I, from my spy-spot could sense it. Theirs wasn't a youthful flirtation or passionate romance - the idea of love often sold to us in films. Theirs was love that had been tested through years and it had weathered the storms and grown stronger.

The years of companionships, sharing laughter and tears, the ups and downs of life and loving each other more than the day before. That is what makes love real. Love is not a glamourous couple falling in love on the screen. Love is an old couple walking down the street hand in hand.

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