When I fell in Love by Accident

I miss being in love.

Or maybe, more accurately, I miss being in sync with the frequency of love. Having a boyfriend seems to tune me into it faster. That's what I learned when I fell in love by accident.

The truth is, raising my own blood pressure takes no effort at all. I can do that instantaneously. Just one unfortunate memory will do: the guy who didn't text back, the time I felt like the ugly duckling in the group, the time I wasn't chosen first. One thought and BAM! the spiral begins. My body reacts before logic can catch up, and suddenly I'm sad, irritated, or quietly unraveling before I even realize I've gone too far.

What feels more unfair is how much effort "good" feelings require. Love, especially. Love needs alignment. Timing, openness, safety, presence... all have to agree at once. Honestly, love is a diva! But, she's worth it.

Recently, I found myself thinking about the last time I was in love. Not really to reminisce, exactly, but to study it. The way you replay a place you once traveled to and try to remember the taste of the food, and what surprised me was this: I wasn't remembering him. I was remembering who I was when I was with him.

Nothing was different about me back then. I wasn't prettier, healthier, wealthier. Miami's romantic scenery wasn't grand. And his biceps, kind voice, or smile, though enchanting, had already faded from memory. It was the way I felt alive around him.

He wasn't the source of love. He was a conduit, or a key.

My senses came online, and they carried me to an unexpected love story.

That's when I realized it shouldn't be called falling in love. It should be called being in the frequency of love. Because love isn't something you fall into. It's something you tune into. Maybe it's implied, but I doubt many of us think about it like that.

A great mind once explained that you don't fall in love with a person. You fall in love with the version of yourself that responds to them. Meaning, you actually fall in love with yourself. I believe that now.

Love shares the same vibration as happiness, but it's calmer. Steadier. Less frantic.

Happiness sparkles. Love ripples like soft ocean waves.

Happiness is happy feet. Skipping around, barefoot, playing the floor-is-lava with your shadows like you're eight again, knowing every skip is a winning one.

Love, on the other hand, feels like the first couple of sips of your morning coffee, where you can trace the warmth as it travels from your mouth to your stomach, and once it lands, it quietly detonates through your soul like a signal flare.

I Fell in Love by Accident

That frequency found me in November, in Miami, by accident.

November was supposed to be boring, instead, a last-minute trip meant to break the monotony became a portal. I stepped through it and landed somewhere luminous, and quietly life-altering. That's where I discovered something essential:

I love to be discovered. That is how I feel love.

I met him at a charity event tucked inside a candlelit courtyard. String lights hung overhead, pretty standard and mood effective. Generous floral arrangements of white hibiscus, peach Angel's Trumpets, and bleeding hearts, very Miami, very à propos.

It's Miami, so I didn't bother checking the weather, big mistake. The Magic City had the audacity to dip into the low sixties. I was wearing a sheer golden sequin dress with thin spaghetti straps, designed for confidence, not windchill.

I stood near the edge of the crowd, quietly observing, my natural demeanor. From the corner of my eye, I noticed him hesitate before approaching me.

He was tall and slender, obviously loyal to his gym membership. His afro was coarse and full, with silver strands poking through. He looked slightly nervous, and oddly enough, something about that disarmed me.

"Are you cold?" He gently asked. Already slipping off his blazer.

"I must have deeply offended the weather," I replied.

He chuckled and draped the blazer around my shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"I'm sorry Miami betrayed you," he said. "It usually behaves better."

We laughed and chatted with no rush.

"What brought you here tonight?" he asked.

"I believe in Color of Hope," I said. "And I believe in showing up when I say I will."

He nodded. "I like that."

"And you?"

"I am taking steps to be a better man than I was last year. So, I volunteer more and attend charity events that speak to me."

That answer lingered.

We exchanged numbers. Nothing cinematic. Nothing forced.

Weeks passed. Dates followed. Many adventures and long conversations that stretched past comfort and into curiosity. Eventually, we were together.

And when I was in love, I didn't watch the sunset from a parking lot. I lived inside it. I was the sun burning with passion and gushing thoughts that give life. I was bending gravity, wrapping myself around each moment. Love wasn't something happening to me. I was happening.

Secrets were revealed, not for drama, but to purge what was crowding within. To make room for new core memories. We shared fantasies of living amongst the gods, of making love in the garden under the safety of the moon, of listening to the forest tell its secrets.

And yes, there was touch, skin, heat, closeness, but love wasn't anchored there. It was bigger. Looser. It was the moment my soul slipped out of its social conditioning and breathed freely. Because the soul dances, you know, nude, without choreography, without music. Just pulse and truth.

In time, we went our separate ways, amicably.

Carrying Love Beyond the Destination

Love was never about him. But I miss being heard by someone.

When I was in love, I learned to dim the world to feel. The sharpness softened, the noise faded, and all that mattered was the present moment. And in the present, there was nothing to push against. There was no resistance. Just ease, quiet, and divine hum that wrapped around everything.

He was the doorway. The doorway into a frequency where I started discovering myself. Where my own signals rose above the static and I listened. I began responding to myself with care and patience. I stopped saying things that weren't true to me, like "I hate people".

Love made me honest.

He had this way of fully listening with sincerity, like my thoughts mattered simply because they were mine. And through that, I started to understand my own patterns, my own wiring. Love doesn't compete, debate, or dominate. It nurtures. It gives you room to unfold.

Every conversation was an invitation inward. A chance to dig up a thought and really look at it. To notice how the places I've been and the journeys I've taken shape the way I think. And once you see that in yourself, grace for others comes easier. Almost naturally.

In love, time softens. Like Marvel's Dr. Strange, I stretched time wide enough to feel the quiet electricity under my skin. The subtle hums. New brainwaves clicking on. Those gentle tingles let you know you're aligned. Since then, I notice more. I listen better. I respond with more grace. I stopped listening to the noise and started feeling the vibration.

I learned the language of stillness.

And now I know this: the frequency of love is abundant. And yes, I was only in that relationship for a short while, but time doesn't matter here. In that frequency, the trivial becomes irrelevant. A new rhythm takes over. One that feels truer than anything I was forcing before.

What a beautiful feeling love is.

It didn't belong to Miami.

It didn't belong to him.

It is within me, and it still lives here. It just needs the right key.

I am grateful, deeply grateful, that I learned to carry love beyond the destination of Miami.

FIN

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