Last night I was roaming Austin by my lonesome whilst waiting for a friends show to finish (I had seen it the night before) and this couple was headed towards me. I’m trying to be polite and figure out which side of the sidewalk to move to but their path is zig-zagging back and forth across the concrete like some sort of drunken waltz. As they got closer I realized they were both blind, and holding walking canes. They were laughing so hard, holding each other tightly with their free hands. I could feel the happiness radiating from them like warmth from a fire on a cold day. And as they walked past me I was suddenly filled with happiness myself, because all I could think of was, “love is blind.”
I know that phrase typically carries a negative connotation, but after seeing the two of them it made me smile. I think there are moments in the midst of loving someone where you can’t see anything else, and you don’t really need to. Moments where it’s okay to be blind to the world around you, even blind to the appearance of your lover. Because the time has long since passed that their physical form was all that drew you in. Now their presence is what holds and warms your heart. The way they laugh, the rhythm of their breath, the scent of their skin. All those small things that can’t be seen. And as if the bliss of your own blindness wasn’t enough, there are moments where both of you go blind. Blind to each others short comings, blind to the mistakes of the past, blind to meaningless imperfections. And you get the chance to hold on to each other and walk a drunken waltz across the sidewalk. What a beautiful thing, to be in love, and have those moments of blindness. How beautiful to walk through seasons of life blindly, laughing at something no one else can see. Because there’s nothing to see. Only something to feel.