I’m seated in Federation Square in Melbourne, sipping a cup of coffee while I wait for a film screening at the Forum Theatre. Naturally, when we’re alone, we start reflecting on things—life stuff. These quiet moments are often when our own story begins to make sense, and we can draw on our past experiences. As we move through life, one of the most profound realisations is that there’s truly no single “right” way to live it. Each of us walks a unique path, shaped by timing, relationships, and the quiet evolution of our feelings.
In my younger years, I remember feeling that rush of passion, that spark that made me think, “Maybe this person is the one.” But as time has passed, that intense longing has mellowed. It’s not that the feeling disappears entirely — it simply transforms into something less needy.
Now, the desire for love is more like a whisper than a roar. And that’s okay — it’s a different kind of noise, one that brings its own sense of peace. Sometimes, the journey is about accepting these changes and understanding that our individual timelines are just that — unique and entirely our own.
In a world that often emphasises the passionate and the urgent, it’s a gentle reminder that there’s beauty in simplicity and in quiet feelings too. Our paths don’t have to look like the next‑door neighbour’s, and the way we experience connection can be just as special in its own way.
As I finish my coffee, I scroll on my phone and come across a line from the writer George Eliot, who once said, “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” I sit with that thought as I make my way toward the Forum. Inside the theatre, I remind myself that it’s never too late to let our feelings change, grow, and lead us down new paths. The lights fade, the curtain opens — let the movie begin.
Harlequin ink 
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