I have spent a lot of time watching people fall in love. The first part is my favorite. Old love is real and honest and beautiful but new love is the cutest. New love runs down a snowy street holding hands. New love stays up too late because sleeping seems like wasted time. New love has pet names and inside jokes. New love has never heard you fart and doesn’t realize that your legs are actually a rare species of sandpaper cacti. It hasn’t met your weird Aunt with the dead tooth or seen the pile of lumpy old women that you will one day become. New love has never kissed anyone as beautiful as you. New love is terrible at keeping secrets. New love is so happy it could puke but only metaphorically, because puking is some old love shit. New love is like a puppy, so full of big-eyed spirit that you forget it pees all over the floor. Or like a children’s book where everything always turns out in the end. Not saying that new love is for kids or that it won’t work out, but only that it can make you feel like an invincible preteen. New love is a lighting bolt that may or may not fall a tree on your house but fuck that house anyways, you’ll use your love as bricks to build a new one. I love new love. It is possible that baby rhinos or a tiny house bear might be cuter, but they both grow up into destructive wild beasts. Whereas new love, when treated right, just grows into a couple of 80 year olds, in cardigans, sitting on a bench sharing a sandwich. So fucking cute.
