Love and companionship: The Fireworks of Affection
She said she admired my talent, praised my exceptional temperament, and mentioned my painting skills. In short, she said she couldn’t live without me and wished to be my spiritual companion.
I just smiled.
What was this? There was no trace of real warmth.
He flirted with her, spoke of missing her, spent hours on late-night phone calls. When she fell ill, he didn’t ask how she was; when she ran out of money, he didn’t offer help. His love was merely words—nothing more.
He wouldn’t spend a dime on her, complained about her fashion choices, and even criticized her hairstyle. All he wanted was a shiny accessory, a pretty vase, completely unrelated to love.
During an economic crisis, she lost her job. When she called him to vent, hoping he would say, “Don’t worry, I’m here for you,” he remained indifferent. Instead, he rambled on about how sweet her kisses were, leaving her feeling nauseated. Such a love devoid of warmth could last at most three months.
Another girlfriend, also an artist, met a man who was persistent, calling her eight times a day with questions that had nothing to do with art: “Did you eat? What did you eat? What are you wearing today? Drink more water; it’s too cold; don’t wear stockings; don’t drink alcohol, your stomach won’t handle it…” The girlfriend scoffed, thinking it felt like a mother reincarnated.
And the result?
Well, all the artsy romances fizzled out, while the mundane conversations blossomed into true love. A year later, the second girlfriend had a baby and started a family business with her husband, living a happy life filled with love, making money, and enjoying their days—becoming a little fairy in their own right.
The warmth of life is such an essential element of love. Do you love me? With just your words? I prefer love from the heart. A heartfelt love carries tenderness; when there’s tenderness in love, it’s like being tied together by bones and tendons. That’s a connection woven with blood.
Then there are two friends who, in middle age, fell passionately in love. I’ve forgotten all the grand promises they made and many details, but I remember one visit to their home where they were dyeing each other’s hair. They had white hair now, but instead of going to a salon, they helped each other out. Wearing gloves and draped in plastic, they laughed together while applying dye.
And then there’s him.
He cared about whether she had a stomachache, researched remedies for her, and packed various medications for her trips, even folding wet wipes and telling her where to find them. He didn’t care how much weight she gained or how many silver strands she had, nor did he mind the wrinkles on her face. If she tried to lose weight, he’d scold her; if she fell ill, he’d worry himself sick. She cared for him too, getting angry when he smoked or drank, worried about his high blood pressure. In short, they bickered happily, living vibrantly in a life filled with warmth.
I think this is the love of fireworks—a far more substantial experience than discussing love in a fancy theater. It feels like a solid bowl holding rice, sturdy and reliable, giving one a sense of security, much like a martial artist whose every move has a foundation—whatever happens, they have their own strength.
So, if I were to fall in love, I would hope for a man who brings me that warmth. I’m not afraid of being mundane; I would like him to ask if I’ve eaten or if I’ve gained weight, to inquire if I want chocolate, to ask if I like this year’s new diamond rings, or if I want that new dress.
I don’t mind being ordinary.
Because that ordinariness carries the taste of fireworks.
And that flavor brings grounded warmth.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
