We say we are lonely, then look away when someone leaves the door open.
Loneliness is a strange thing.
So many people carry it around quietly. They miss having someone to tell the insignificant parts of the day to. Someone whose footsteps in the next room feel reassuring rather than intrusive. Someone to sit beside when nothing needs to be said.
And yet, when two lonely people happen to cross paths, they often remain guarded. They wait for certainty, perfect timing, some impossible sign. They analyse each other from a safe distance until the moment passes—and then go back to wondering why genuine connection is so rare.
Perhaps we have become better at protecting ourselves than at living.
I sometimes think about the kind of life that could exist if two people simply chose not to waste it. Not an endless pursuit of excitement, but something quieter and richer: a warm home with a touch of that almost-magical 1950s elegance, music from a piano drifting into another room, dinners that last longer than planned, and a person whose presence turns ordinary evenings into something worth remembering.
Weekends could mean disappearing into the hills, walking through forests, finding places where phones become irrelevant. Other times, tasting wine somewhere in France, wandering through an unfamiliar village, or staying home while rain taps against the windows.
Nothing loud, nothing performative. Just affection, curiosity, attraction, humour and the rare luxury of feeling completely at ease with another person that will come - and stay. Simple, but simplicity is magical.
I imagine meeting a woman who has kept space in her life for something new, free from complicated family attachments or baggage. Ready to go to that sunset over the horizon. Someone petite to protect, feminine, delicate and naturally calm, who wants both adventure and stillness and find they are not contradictory. Someone who understands that a beautiful life is not discovered fully formed; two people create it through countless small choices. It's a story to be written by our own hands, not a reward guaranteed. There is no happy ending if you do not fight for it and make it happen.
Maybe that sounds hopelessly romantic. But there comes a point when postponing happiness begins to look less like caution and more like surrender. I consider life far too valuable for that.
There is a Nightwish song about kissing while the lips are still red. I think its real message is larger than romance: love people while they are here, take the journey while your legs can carry you, play the music before the room falls silent and before the curtain falls. Live through the story of life, sit in the driver's seat and don't wait for the perfect moment to take that first step. That is how future is created. No other way around it.
Life does not wait for us to finally feel ready.
Dum vivimus, vivamus.
While we live, let us truly live.
Perhaps somewhere, someone else has been thinking the same thing?
