The Sense of Love Can Be Found Through All The Five Senses
Making sense of love when love makes no sense needs the five senses working together like a team of archaeologists digging deep into the soul.
What is love? I knew the answer once. Then forgot it again. Then I wrote the novel Katie in Love and it all came back to me.
When love comes it is overwhelming, a tidal wave washing over your heart. When love leaves your heart is a dry, empty, a desert island without vegetation, a void with a hole through the centre. They say love and hate are two sides of the same coin. It isn’t true. Love is fleeting. Hate is eternal. After love there is kindness. After hatred there is emptiness. Making sense of love is like doing a jigsaw puzzle where all the pieces are blank.
Taste of Love
Love tastes of lemon and ricotta, almond milk with a pinch of salt, Chinese food on far away beaches, pollen to the honey bee. Love tastes of oxytocin, serotonin and melatonin, that blend of seminal chemicals that make you high and, conversely, aids sleep. Love tastes of cherries picked from the tree in August, ice cold cava at three on a scorching afternoon, the air at daybreak after dancing on tables till dawn.
When you are in love you lose your appetite. Love is the gas that fuels an empty tank. When you fall in love, your taste buds modify, adapt, open like a flower. A single tablet of chocolate has the erotic tang of some alien fruit. Love touches the palate like crystal water from the Holy Grail, a hint of paradise. Love tastes of the future. It is positive, optimistic, the elixir of life.
Sight of Love
Love is the sight of your lover’s face in the crowd, his picture in old photograph albums, his legs moving as he dances to Bruce Springsteen, the video on your iPhone when he gives a speech at a friend’s wedding.
You make sense of love seeing your reflection in the mirror making love, when you see your face by chance in a shop window and realise you are smiling. Love is the sight of old friends and new land after a long journey at sea. Love is a spectacular landscape, the rising sun and setting sun, the full moon low in the sky, the stars on the clearest night.
Sound of Love
Love sounds like your name being called by your lover. Love sounds like naked skin slapping naked skin, the telephone ringing with the call you were waiting for. Lovers love the sound of silence after making love, the sound of butterfly breath on your neck as you snuggle, the tree branch tapping the window pane, the traffic in the cold distance while you lay wrapped in erogenous warmth.
Love sounds like Eric Clapton’s guitar, Bach’s organ, Mozart’s imagination, the cool wind blowing on hot days, Pink Floyd driving fast on an empty road. Love sounds like an echo from somewhere deep inside. Love is the sound of fury, the sound of one hand clapping, the sound of Om. You make sense of love when you hear a baby’s heartbeat.
Smell of Love
Loves smells of the rain, the sea on sunny days, red nail varnish when you are wearing a red dress. Love smells of sweat after sex, the muggy air beneath the bedsheets, the scent of flowers your lover sends when he’s far away. Love smells of warm male jizz with its hint of secrets and mystery.
You make sense of love when you smell the fragrance of old trees deep in the forest, the cologne of the city streets where you walked with your lover, the perfume of morning bedsheets.
Touch of Love
You understand the sense of love when your lover’s hand touches your breast. You appreciate the sense of love when your lover’s tongue reached your eager clitoris. You know the sense of love when your lover’s cock fills the sense-laden walls of your throat.
Love is the touch of the sun’s hot rays and the moon’s cold light, the feel of wet grass and warm sand beneath your feet. Love is the touch of the cool free air when you fly in a hot air balloon. The sense of love touches your heart when you fall in love and the sense of love is a broken bird that cannot fly when your heart is broken.
“…a passionate journal of one young woman’s resistance to all that is conventional and her growing confidence as she embraces the joy of love,” Elizabeth Woodham, Amazon.co.uk
“They just don’t write books like this anymore. Thurlow spins a tale like she’s travelled to us from a classier time to bring fine literature to the masses,” India Reid, Amazon.com