Believing in butterflies

In my twenty-one years of living, there are only three people who have ever given me butterflies.  The kind of butterflies you feel on a rollercoaster when you’re so pumped with adrenaline the rush just makes you want to scream.  Or that buzz when a plane is taking off.  It’s a powerful feeling and underestimated in my opinion.  I feel I’ve been fortunate to even experience it once.

Of these three people, I would like to tell you about one.  The other two shall remain anonymous I’m afraid.  Let’s call him number three.  I was fifteen and in central Rome sitting on a bench eating gelato and watching the traffic go by.  I looked up from my ice cream to see a stranger looking straight at me.  His eyes were piercing me so intensely that he may as well have been sitting right beside me.  And boom, there were the butterflies.  He was sitting on his motorbike in the traffic queue.  The traffic moved, I blinked and he was gone.  And that was it.  It could only have been ninety seconds at the most.  And then I was left with just a memory and a fast melting ice cream.

You are probably thinking I have seen too many picture-perfect Hollywood movies.  Or that I was in Rome: one of the most romantic cities in the world and thus the easiest place to fall in lust with a complete stranger.  Or that I was a fifteen year old girl with raging hormones and a newly found interest in the opposite sex.  Believe me, I have considered all these options.  But a part of me still can’t help but question why I had such instantly strong feelings for a stranger.  And why circumstances meant that it didn’t amount to anything.  Number one and number two have at least been explored.  But with number three I felt robbed.

A friend recently stated her belief that the purpose of life is simply to experience.  Perhaps she deserves more credit for her wisdom.  Because analyzing the ‘what if’s’ can drive you crazy.  And trying to find a meaning when there isn’t one is just exhausting.  So maybe it was just a magical moment.  And the rest I will never really know.  Because life is just a string of isolated incidents we attempt to piece together through finding a meaning.  And trying to squeeze sense out of everything would be a waste of time.

But I would be lying if I said I no longer believed in the magic of fate altogether.  I’m currently visiting a friend in Rome for a few days...