Love isn't a Hallmark Card

I was surfing back through some posts I made on a previous blog and I thought the following excerpt was worth a re-post:

I have a more serious observation this morning. As I made my way downtown yesterday, I saw a couple on the corner of W.10 & 6th Ave. They were a wholly unremarkable couple as far as a numerical readout would go. Perhaps a 0.5 tops. No matter. Despite the evidence of hard-living on both their parts - they looked late 50's, but were more likely mid 40's - these two were definitely in love with one another. There is no telling whether they had been in love for 40 years or 40 minutes or it had taken them 40 years to find these 40 minutes. Again, no matter. The love on their faces and in their body language as they clung to one another on the corner waiting for the cab to hurtle pass so they could cross the street was clearly evident. It struck me at that moment that while the vixometer is calculating for a particular aesthetic it is considering and acquiring all manifestations of true beauty.

It reminded me of one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in New York and it came from a most unlikely source. About seven years ago I was riding the N train in from Queens. Standing in front of me was as rough a featured man as you are likely to see in the public. In fact, given the extent of the prison ink on his arms I dare say he hadn't spent much of his life on the streets. His external appearance was brutal. He was missing teeth, his body was bent and beyond the ink, his flesh scarred from hard knocks, None of this mattered. He was cradling in his arms an infant. It was unclear whether the baby was his own child, a grandchild or otherwise. Again, it didn't really matter. What did matter was the connection between the two. It was obvious from this man's eyes that the child in his arms was the most important thing that had ever happened to him. He was oblivious to everything around him. The child was gurgling and giggling, swinging its arms and legs bubbling over from the attention the man was giving it. Perhaps I was reading too much into it, but to me it seemed that the child must have represented his redemption. It was a blank slate to start over. The child didn't care what he looked like. The child didn't care about his past. It was a beautiful and inspirational thing to witness.

Love isn't a Hallmark card. It isn't rational. It doesn't make sense. And more often than not, it comes in humble wrapping.