Is gravity responsible for falling in love?
The first time I realised I was in love I fainted.
I was up a ladder. In a warehouse I was working in at the time.
I’d like to hold the effects of gravity responsible for the concussion.
The second time I realised I was in love I wasn’t sure.
The falling was replaced by an easy, settling feeling.
And it fell apart in the same, slow way.
Though here, the word ‘fall’ is inaccurate.
The third time I began to be in love I resisted.
It made the descent even harder.
It dragged me down, out of myself into someone I didn’t recognise.
Well I still looked like me, but you get what I mean.
66% of my sample of love was like loss of control, or breath, or the feeling you get when a lift speeds upwards, and you feel like it forgot the bits of you that aren’t your body.
66% of my sample made my heart soar, my stomach drop, but really our internal organs don’t care what madnesses our hormones are inducing because they have a job to do, and in fact a ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss for keeping you alive, you and your ungrateful endocrinal system.
Science explains the forces that act on us, and we heat it up and warp and twist it’s simple, meaningful language to mean the things we don’t understand, in the hope that by penning them in, we’ll be closer.
Is Gravity responsible for falling in love?
If it is I’d like it to be corporeal, I would bring it close, rest my hand gently on its bare upper arm, and whisper into its ear.
But I wouldn’t let you hear what I said, it would be like the end of Lost in Translation.
Which means if you have no romance in you, you could probably google for it.
This is a bit of creative writing I did in response to the question ‘Is Gravity Responsible for Falling in Love’ from here. I don’t really put creative stuff up on here anymore, mainly because the little pieces seem to suit Posterous more, but I think I’ll try and keep a bit more for the ‘proper’ blog. So here we are.
