"A Dream Made to Order, South of the Border..."

I like cream in my coffee, I like to sleep late on Sunday, nobody knows me like my baby.
and I like eggs over-easy, and flour tortillas, and nobody knows me like my baby.
Nobody holds me, and nobody knows me, nobody knows me like my baby."


Last night I stayed up late watching P.S. I Love You with Becca over Skype.  I didn't cry so much this time.  Either it's loosing its effect on me because I've seen it so many times,  or I was too distracted by the dizziness of my head and the pocket of phlegm stuck at the back of my throat.  Sickness has struck again.

Still, there is one scene in the movie that always gets to me.  Towards the end, when Daniel reads the final letter that Gerry sent to Holly, in the middle of Yankee Stadium.

"You made me a man by loving me, Holly... Promise me that whenever you're sad, or unsure, or you lose complete faith, that you'll try to see yourself through my eyes.  Thank you for the honor of being my wife.  I'm a man with no regrets, how lucky am I."

I know that it's just a movie,  but I can't help but feeling as though great love stories like these really happen.
Love stories of epic proportion.  The kind that are full of tragedy and impossibilities and....  magic.

 I may be what you consider a hopeless romantic,  but I don't really think that's what it comes down to.
It's not a matter of whether or not I believe in love at first sight, or romantic candle-lit dinners, or following your heart, or any other of that Disney, Rom-Com cheesy Hollywood garbage.

It's more or less that I believe in love,  and fate,  and the power of "it could happen."


But it was a dream made to order, south of the border, and nobody knows me like my baby.
And she cried, man, how could you do it, and I swore that there weren't nothing to it.
But nobody knows me like my baby. And nobody holds me, and nobody knows me. 
Nobody knows me like my baby.



I also believe that it's the people who determine the greatness of their own love stories.  There are people who are destined for greatness in whatever form.  Greatness in their lifestyles, their careers, their characters, their experiences, and then there are those who are destined for greatness in love.

Neither of these people are greater than the other, I honestly believe that.  It's not my intention to put one on a pedestal over the other, because there are people in my life that could fit any of these categories, and not a single one is "best."

But I do wonder what it takes to make the kind of person destined for great love?

I think it must take a little bit of bravery, and a great deal of stubbornness.  I imagine it takes a large desire for adventure,  and a dash of fragility,  a sprinkle of insanity, a dusting of chaos.  The need for interaction,  the craving to be understood, the will to fight, and also the ability to stand alone.

One must have the incorruptible faith that everything will always turn out in the end.

So, I guess now the question is, do I have what it takes?

Because that is the area in life where I want to be great.  I want to be capable of the greatest kind of love story; that is the legacy I want to leave behind me.  Not in careers, not in lifestyles,  but in love.

And I like cream in my coffee, I hate to be alone on Sunday, and nobody knows me like my baby.




Xx,
Hannah


P.S. " Nobody Knows Me"-  Lyle Lovett