True Love

Valentines weekend is here, and it is never morning when I write these anymore. Maybe we will get back into that. I am really trying to balance myself right now so that is something I will start to work on: waking up early and actually writing. With a cup of tea.

Part of my balancing journey has always been a period of reflection. Actually, that is the first step back in the right direction most of the time. Normally the wallowing phase is a lot longer, I am glad I have decided to go ahead and try to move forward cause it could have gotten ugly (and trust me, I know a lot about it this cycle by now. I have had to readjust after a spin-out quite a few times in the past 20 years of my life.)

Enough of the tangent, let's reflect.

I ascribe to a multifaceted definition of love. The Greek language knew what it was talking about. Haha. As an English speaker, I try to remember these many meanings when I use the word love, and that is a lot. Some might say I over-use the word. I disagree. I am honest when I use the L-word. As I walk through this piece of the world I have been lent for the time being, I have grown to see myself as a vessel of love: to be filled, poured out, and spilled. So as a vessel of the L-word, the truth is, I know true love and its meaning has been confused for quite some time. I am not great with my words, but let me try to explain.

Love is the memory of a summer day that my friends took a break from work and went kayaking and swimming in the river. As we laughed and raced upstream, I can remember every scent of honeysuckle, every feeling of how the water splashed against my skin, and every perfect, secluded noise of the silent woods that engulfed us. I don't talk to those people anymore but that memory of youth and spontaneous adventure lives and walks me through a world of mundane and routine.

Or the memory of a grandmother, dwelling inside a prized possession around my neck. It goes unnoticed by many, but when it is in between my fingers while tears stream down my face, I hear the tales of Gloria and Alfred and the songs of the birds in another lifetime.

Love is a stranger but not really. I don't know the stranger but at the same time, I do. The stranger is two friends learning a new dance at the park, unafraid of who else sees. The stranger is also the puppy who tugged on his leash to greet me as I walked past. Love is a stranger, but the person who always gives me an extra dash of cinnamon at my favorite coffee shop. We don't each other by name, but by the brief moment, we enter each other's lives and we are friends in love. It's nice to think of those stranger's once in a while; they are living lives like mine. I wonder if I made an impact on them as they made on me?

Love is a feeling. The feeling of going home. The feeling of running in the rain. The feeling you get when holding your baby sister for the first time. The feeling you get when you see her dance when they said she never would. Love is the protective feeling I feel for my younger brother even though I probably pick on him even more than any of the mean kids from school.

Love is the feeling of going on a second or third date and having more fun than you have ever had with anyone else, and not even having a first kiss yet. You know, the feeling when the world feels easier to conquer when you hold that one person's hand? I think it is also the feeling of pain you feel when you know it's the last time you will ever hold that person's hand. It's kinda interesting how it can be both.

Love is the feeling of walking through a quiet museum, one that you enjoy, and being awestruck. The feeling of walking out of a room and thinking, "Everything I just saw has changed me." Love is a feeling and a discovery of something you can't stop wondering about.

More than that, love is a choice. Choosing to work out when it's hard. Choosing to call a friend when you feel like they need it, or maybe you do. Choosing to be nice to the person who has pressed one too many buttons. The choice between eating at home or eating on a bench at the park when you have no other options that day. Love is choosing to listen to the music that heals you when the silence and heartbreak are thick in the air around you.

See the truth is, love is exactly what you make it to be. True love is innocent. True love is kindness. It's a wild horse or a storm on the ocean; so untamable yet beautiful. You should have no hope in making it do what you want, it has a mind of its own. But purposeful, surely. Both reshape the land and feed a dream or life in ways you can't recognize during the wind and thunder.

True love is something a person is able of giving, not a mystical spirit to desire and catch. It is only something you can give, give, and give. And what I have learned is this: true love, the gift, is something not often returned. Some vessels are empty. They have none left to give. So maybe the best way to receive true love is giving the true love you have to spare.

Love isn't just a rose and a box of chocolates. It can be, but it can also be a smile or a hug. It can be in an old friend or a new one. It can be pouring out of a quiet girl reading a book on a park bench or the loud one dancing her heart out at a party. Love is in nature or the city and it's chasing you while you have been chasing it. One big circle in an endless cycle but you had it the whole time. Love is in you. Love is in me. Love is in every room you walk in and every person you talk to. At least the potential for love is there. So let's pour out love. Let it spill all over the floor. We have enough to spare. Trust me, if you are living your life overflowing with love, you will get some love in return.

And for the love of chocolate, please remember on this Valentine's day that I love you.