how many times should i say i love you?
in this moment, i am not sure what i feel for you. i have been raised in a society that both exalts love and fears it. a society that tells me love is rare and experienced only under particular circumstances; beginning with family and radiating outward to long term relationships and close, time-worn friendships. to love too quickly is deemed foolish. to love too many, is superficial. our tragedy is that we believe something can only be beautiful when it is rare. we exist in a society that dismisses the beauty in everyday life. we overlook the small, fleeting moments that make up our day, because we have become jaded to the heaviness of a dog sleeping on our lap; the warmth of someone else’s fingers filling the space between our own.
someone once told me in a hushed voice, to be cautious with whom i spoke those three words to. i always felt there was something wrong with me; that i did not comprehend the immensity of love. i felt it so easily for the friend curled up beside me in bed the morning after whispered conversation, for the young man with whom i shared a cup of coke with each day for a year. sometimes it is okay to abandon caution and open yourself up to the possibility of a connection with another human being. it is okay to be vulnerable.
we were born with an incredible capacity for love. the quiet woman on the walkway could be the person who gives you a new perspective on life—the one who opens you up with tremendous ease and assuages your fears and puts out your fires.
the English language does not contain the vocabulary to express different levels of love—instead using one abstract word to encompass the entire complicated spectrum of human emotion.
in Spanish, love between family is separated from love between spouses. in Greek, there are four distinct terms, each with its own meaning. working with such a limited capacity for expression, it is no wonder our society as a whole appears to perpetually be in turmoil over the concept of love. we are in constant pursuit of it, yet question it when we experience it; herald it’s beauty, yet fear that we will be left broken in its wake. love becomes a contradiction. it simultaneously becomes the root of our joys and our woes.
if there were a dictionary dedicated to all the variations and subtle nuances of love, perhaps i would not feel so conflicted when i look at you.
you, sprawled out on your bed as dawn comes in under the blinds and i allow time to pass before interrupting your sleep. we are not rare. we exist in the category of everyday things; lovers driving slowly on a Saturday afternoon, or two people holding on to each other in place filled with other human beings. these things happen in high frequency, but it is in these moments, halfway between your start point and your destination in that car on that Saturday afternoon, when you look over and realize that you feel love for the person sitting next to you. because the beautiful things in our life are not always rare or extraordinary.
sometimes it is the quiet seconds before dawn when everyone else is dreaming and you feel as if time has stopped momentarily. the moments that pass quietly and unnoticed are what you will remember most as you age and begin to collect memories like dead flowers pressed between the pages of a book.
there will be no fireworks or music swelling in the background. love, as defined by every romance film in the past decade, is not going to occur; and that is okay. i will wake you up and bug you to go out together in search of something to eat. breakfast will be ordinary. despite what society says, what he/she says, what the black and white printed definition in any dictionary says, in this fleeting, beautiful, simple, quiet moment, i know what i feel for you.
you make me want to pull my hair out and then piece them back one-by-one. it has been three years. three years of bickering, crying, and loving. it has been a ridiculous roller coaster but every moment i spend with you is perfect.
