There are things
in life that we simply can’t explain, not because we
don’t want to but because we just can’t find the exact, appropriate set of words
that will give these things such fair dealing. I guess what I’m trying
to say is... love is love.
The Time Traveler’s
Wife is a story about a little girl’s faith in the most powerful word I
know, love. She was just playing in the meadow when a man appeared in
the clearing. She was scared but she helped him. He said he’s a time traveler
she didn't know what to do, she didn't know whether to believe him or not but
she listened... she listened to what he was saying. The man kept on
appearing, always naked; she made it a point to always leave a
box full of clothing and food. She was falling in love with the man who was old
enough to be her father.
One time, she went to
a slumber party. Her friends decided to play on the Ouija board
and when it was Clare’s time to ask, the Ouija said his name’s Henry, her
husband.
From then on, she’s
been waiting for the right moment, the chance to finally meet the man
she’ll spend the rest of her life with...
Somehow, right
in the middle of an ordinary
life, you find yourself a fairy-tale worth sharing. This is
Clare’s fairy-tale. She went through a very overwhelming, crazy roller-coaster ride with Henry and she knew things might go the wrong way but she didn't care, she chose to step inside and enjoy the ride. She just wants to
spend the rest of her life with the man she adores, the man she loves. Theirs
is a love that can withstand the test of time.
Love can be very
tricky at times. You’ll never know when it'll hit you or how but
once it finds its way to you, there’s nothing you can do.
The road may be a little rocky, the cliff may be a little
too high but the thing is, you just have to take a leap. You just have
to have faith in fate. Take a chance. It feels so good to be in love and be
loved but if it’ll never work out like Henry and Clare's? Who cares,
right? It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved, after all.
“There is only one page left to write on. I will fill it with words of only one syllable. I love. I have loved. I will love.”
Love,
M x
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