Actions Speak Loud, But my Thoughts Speak Louder.

I love Casablanca.

I also think I am finally starting to understand the song:

You must remember this… a kiss is just a kiss… a sigh is just a sigh….

What is in in our nature as females, (or perhaps it’s just my own over-analyzing tendencies, irrelevant to gender?) that feels the need to derive some deep, overarching meaning to every little, miniscule action?

Why is it that within every lingering gaze, every seemingly spontaneous kiss, every intertwining of fingers, every casual statement, I must apply an underlying story? A secret meaning? A motive and a plot point in the tiniest of actions?

What is it about how my brain works that needs to instil some greater meaning to every little moment? Where does this insistence that some tiny little gesture might in fact mean EVERYTHING come from?

Where does this need to make mountains out of molehills come from?

Why can’t I let actual Actions and Words drown out my own Amelie-inspired interpretation of someone’s gestures and thoughts and feels?

Just because I secretly want to be a rom-com, or better yet an indie french flick doesn’t mean it’s fair to filter that way.

Where does the line between interpreting and projecting lie?

So play it, Sam.

Play it again until I can figure it all out.

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