Love

It’s when he brings flowers even though it isn’t a special date; love is when everyday next to someone feels like a special date. When one moment is enough, but you still want it to last forever. When your heart is at peace and on fire at the same time. It’s the feeling she gets when she’s sad and all she wants is to get home and cry in his arms. It’s when he leaves the most important meeting of the month because school called saying his kid hurt his knee. When you want to talk all night, but quiet feels comfortable too. It’s when you sit next to her for hours through the night in the waiting room of the hospital even though she only has a cold. It is when your dog sits by the bathroom door as you shower, and you think it’s lovely even though the scratching the door annoys you. It is when she cancels her plans and goes to the other side of town because her best friend called her crying. It’s when she said she didn’t want you even when she so clearly did, because she didn’t think she was good for you, or how you kept looking at her walking away, hoping she would look back when it took all her efforts not to. It is a hug that lasts longer, a kiss that’s neither hello or goodbye. It’s when you didn’t take his calls because you knew he had to study for his test tomorrow. When you went to the beach despite how much you hate it, because you adore the way she looks, in love with the sea, or when you bought tickets for the game she wanted to see so badly even though you hate her team. It’s when her parents let her put on her annoying playlist through the whole road trip, and how sweet they find the way she closes her eyes and sings along. It’s when your father wakes up in the middle of the night to pick you up at that party and parks to hold your hair as you puke straight vodka through the window. It’s him reminding you to bring your asma medication, because you always forget despite the fact you haven’t needed it in two years. It’s when you fight sleep because your friend has been begging for you to watch that movie for months. It’s when you keep a secret because you know it would only hurt them to know, and when you tell because you can’t stand lying to them. It is when he goes to his girlfriend’s house for the first time and pretends to like cats to make her happy. When the mom gives up on her first night out since the birth because the baby is a little more pale than usual. It’s when her brother punches the guy who spreads rumors even though it won’t change anything, and when you spend the night next to him eating pizza, watching his favorite movie and icing his hand. It’s when you hate dresses and the color purple but wear a purple gown for your best friend’s wedding because you know it matters to her, and when you drive for seven hours to meet her baby the day she’s born. It’s when years after, she still remembers the day of their first kiss and his favorite song. It’s the extra hours your mom picks up at work, and when your dad leaves early to take you to lunch. It’s when someone makes you want to write poetry, or when they leave you without words. It’s is when he doesn’t like her new haircut, but still says she looks beautiful because, when she smiles, she is the most beautiful woman alive. It’s when your grandmother makes three cakes for your birthday, because she knows you can’t pick your favorite flavour. It’s when you lay alone in bed after an ordinary day, and your own company is very much enough. It’s when she doesn’t call not to wake him up, and when she waves goodbye as his cab drives away.

It’s when nothing matters, or when everything stops mattering at all. When despite all the wrongs, everything feels right. It’s good morning, good afternoon, good night, let me know when you get home. It’s good and sometimes bad. It’s holding onto, and knowing when to let go.

It’s the one face of magic cynical as I am, I believe in; it is the single thing or lack thereof all of us have in common. It’s intense, peaceful, beautiful, ugly, forever or forever while it lasts. It can be hidden within hate or faded into the air. It’s really anything, and it can make anything out of us. It’s the best thing we have – and probably the only one too.

And love, in all its truths and sometimes lies, in all its shapes and colors and faces, it’s as undefinable as anything as simple and as complicated could be.