nothing special

"But I'm not that special."

yeah, well, none of us are special. not you, not me, not your friends, your exes, your crushes, you family, not even you.

we're all just ordinary humans living ordinary lies with some quirks and some traits and some circumstances that make us different, but never really special. after all, what is so special about anyone? the difference between one person and the next is usually as barren as a few "if" statements that went differently for them. what trait can a person really have to make them special? what combination? is there a genetic recipe for special?

none of us are special on our own, my love, but then you throw us all onto the same giant blue sphere, and we keep bumping into each other, and things begin to change and things begin to happen.

i will not lie - i have met girls who are prettier or smarter or funnier or more talented than you, girls who have more in common with me, girls who - by all scientific and mathematical reasons - should make my heartbeats shift subtly and not so subtly.

But I don't love them, I love you, and there is no quantitative mathematical processes to show behind this. There is something about you that makes my heart flutter and it creates this aching burn inside my chest; there is something about you that makes every nerve in my body tear with longing for your skin. There is something in you that makes me want you, over and over again, in every single way it is possible to have a person; something in you that makes me love you.

You are not perfect. I know, my love; I understand there will be girls who are better than you and girls who are better than me, but, my love, don't worry about them.

I know you are not perfect. I know. We are all human; we are infinity, bound by the limits of our minds and hearts. I know you are not perfect.

And yet, something in you lights a fire in me. It is as though we all go around with darkness in the places where love should be, and, darling, you are the star that guides me past our all too human deception.

Look at the night sky: vast and endless and expanding. See, all the stars are running away from each other, but us humans? We are only drawing closer, the fires burning inside our souls getting hotter as we come closer and closer to understanding and loving each other. As the stars grow distant, as the galaxies fade, as we realize, more and more, how alone we are in an infinite universe, we grow closer to each other. We learn to live from the light exchanging between our fingers at the slightest contact.

And maybe the fallacy of human nature is believing we are worth the ideas and emotions that start in our souls and eventually cover the entire sky. Have you noticed how sometimes, at night - those moments when no one else is awake and you are the only one in the world, the only one in the universe - have you noticed how each and every star shines for you? Because in those moments, those beautiful moments stolen from the highest heavens - in those moments, you can see every idea and belief, every emotion and reason of yours, you can see them written in the sky.

Maybe the fallacy of human nature is believing we are worth the ideas and emotions that start in our souls and bound away unbidden into great depths unknown; maybe the fallacy of human nature is believing, somehow, that we are special - that we are worth something.

See, I don't think we are; I don't even think you are, but you lit a fire inside me when before was darkness; you made me breath in colours I did not know existed -

And as the stars drift further and further away, and I stay up later and later to say goodbye to them, they ask me, "What is love like?" And I have to admit to them, my God, I am proud to love you, and I tell them, love is reaching out to hold your hand in the face of oblivion.

Maybe you are not special and maybe I am not special and maybe none of us are really special. After all, we were all made from the same atoms that adorn every other thing in the universe; we are not made from a unique matter.

Yet, somehow, in the vast expanse of everything - somehow, underneath the lights fashioned to hang in darkness without repelling it, beneath the gaze of our planet's lover, somehow, you managed to light a fire inside me.

My love, maybe we really are nothing special, maybe we have nothing special. Everyone and everything dies one day; this entire network of stars and galaxies, of supernovas and black holes, of dark energy and sunshine - no matter what the physicists say, it's pretty simple; we are all a bunch of ticking clocks and our ends are always coming. Every second I spend talking to you is a second closer to my end and to yours, to the end of the billions and billions of stars I have never seen. . .

But my love, you taught me that it is okay to fade away, it is okay to be nothing special. Because what matters, more than life and even more than death, more than ideas and beliefs and values and even honour - what truly matters the most is whether there is a light inside of you, whether your personal universe resembles a three-year-old's painting or a scientist's mathematical equation or a lover's kiss, which are really all the same, or whether your personal universe does not exist.

Oh, my love, the stars grow more distant every day and it scares me how alone we are, how lonely we are, but you lit a fire inside of me and I feel like there are hundreds of universes inside me, hundreds and thousands of them; I feel like I live and breathe in vibrant colours that no one else can see.

And the funny thing is, you may never see or understand my universe, but you know what?

The stars are growing more distant every day but I choose to love you, I choose to take your hand in the face of our tiny little space in infinity. You taught me that what matters the most is the universe inside of me.

And then you set me on fire from the inside, and finally - finally - I can breathe.