formulas of love..
the greatest lesson of chemistry.
How often do we believe
that timing is both
the greatest
and the cruelest ingredient
in the formula of love?
Somehow,
two elements,
perfectly capable of becoming something beautiful,
remain only themselves
when one arrives
much later
than the other.
And yet,
the greatest irony of love
is that feelings
are almost never born
at the same time.
One heart awakens.
The other is still asleep.
And when one is finally ready,
perhaps the other
has already dissolved
into another state of being,
quietly transforming
into something else.
Somehow,
what seems so simple
never becomes
the perfect formula.
And yet,
from that imperfect timing
comes the most intoxicating
chemistry
of all.
How often do we believe
timing must be perfect
for two elements
to find one another,
merging into
the formula of love?
But what if
love itself
is stronger than timing?
What if,
even within
the intoxicating chemistry,
two elements
begin to form
an entirely different formula?
Burned too early.
Awakened too late.
Somehow,
they become
another kind of love—
one no chemist
could ever discover,
one scientists
may spend centuries
trying to understand:
the formula
of love.
As if the two elements
quietly invited one another
onto the dance floor,
within the vessel of affection,
filled with curiosity.
The temperature begins to rise.
“Oh no—
don’t burn too early.
I might not be ready.
Give me a moment.
Let me discover
how to merge with you.”
But when one is finally ready,
the other
has already transformed
into something else.
Completely different.
And the only thing
that ever survives
within the vessel of affection
is never
the burning fireworks,
but somehow,
the deepest form of care.
“Hey...
you arrived
a little too late.
But I’ve loved you
far too much
to simply walk away.”
Come here.
Hold my hand.
May we teach one another
the greatest dance of all—
not the desperate desire
to become
something perfect,
but to learn,
awkwardly,
clumsily,
to receive one another
exactly,
at the moment,
of the person,
that we are.
Like two elements
that stop trying
to become
the formula
they imagined,
and instead
create
the only kind of love
they were ever meant
to form.
For perhaps
love
was never waiting
for the perfect reaction—
only two souls
willing
to keep dancing.
P.S: For so long, I thought my favorite moment would be something big and extravagant—like the picture of you walking into a restaurant with flowers in your hands. I thought of the confession as something you must announce to the whole world of how much someone meant to you.
Then I realized my favorite moments were never the ones I had planned in my mind, but the ones that arrived unexpectedly and authentically.
Like how we awkwardly wanted to be close to one another yet were both afraid of crossing the boundaries between us.
How you clumsily walked into my life and stayed beside me in the only way you knew how. How we kept stumbling into each other’s insecurities and triggers, only to discover that maybe I cared more about the person sitting in front of me than the label attached to our connection.
Perhaps it was never about who cared more, or what form our care took. Perhaps it was always about how safe we made each other feel—that for a brief moment, all the differences and disagreements between us disappeared, leaving only two people simply enjoying each other’s company.
And for that, I will always be grateful.