Because I have many posts roaming in my head, not a single coherent one, PLUS I wish to write.

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I completed reading The Price of Salt, a romantic novel by Patricia Highsmith, last weekend. Also finished Shopgirl, a novella by Steve Martin. Yes, the lovable comedian and banjo player, the same guy. I loved both books so much. The Price of Salt is the tale of Terese and Carol, two women who fall in love, and of course, it is not an easy road to traverse, given that they lived in New York in the 1950s (I think). Shopgirl tells the story of a shy girl Mirabelle who ends up with two suitors.

I guess each person draws what appeals to them the strongest from a given book. Shopgirl is written with such sensitivity and loving detail… I was touched. It just might be one of the best books I have read in a long time. The Price of Salt reminded me a little of Brokeback Mountain, a book that kinda broke my heart with its description of a love so simple yet profound.

Love can be hugely overwhelming and explosive and time-consuming and emotion-consuming and hunger-consuming. Sometimes it does not even mellow with time and age, instead smoldering like a hot piece of coal that refuses to die out. I am finding it difficult to imagine a love that rapturous… Hmmm. My love story is a little flame that burned brightly, supported by good vibes and wishes and humor. It had no fury or drama to it. Probably I braved drama in an earlier lifetime, so I was spared it this time around.

I got thinking last night – what if love is simply a deep attraction? Is that obvious? Attraction isn’t baseless, which means that if/when the basis dies/disappears/changes, love may very well fly out of the window too. Unless you find another basis, possibly?

Ahh, well. Nothing is a given in this manifest universe, except Death. There you go… Not meaning to sound morbid at all, but you get my drift. Or so I hope.

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