Seriously, now might not be the right time for this question.
But let us shoot for something, right?
I’m honestly not sure.
I don’t know if I ever have been. I’m not entirely sure what I mean when I talk about love.
I know I’ve fallen hard for people, and I know how much I feel for all my friends. I know how much crossover and misunderstanding there is and has been and can be between those two loves.
Maybe love is just a whole. (Oops, great typo, let’s try again.)
Maybe love is just a hole. You cover it in leaves, and then you fall in. Maybe there’s someone down there with you.
And when you’re trying to dig your way out it feels like a landslide, maybe. (Definitely).
Just remember to go sideways, and not down.
Metaphors are useless tools (for digging?)
So are words.
Love. It’s quite a small word, and it appears to mean a million different things.
I love my friend’s dog, Stompy, for example.
And there always seems to be enough for all the new wonderful people that come into my life (and I keep plenty aside for all the people I may never see again, and I definitely have huge lumps of it lying around for many people I know I’ll never see again….a few of them have some of the biggest portions).
This isn’t supposed to be about me.
When I was 19, I lost a close friend. This was the kind of friend you love dearly even whilst you’re passionately arguing. The kind I probably pissed off more frequently than anyone. The kind I will never forget. The kind i have a million memories of.
He’s gone now, but my love for him seems to stretch out into infinity.
Love may partly be a function of memory. Maybe it’s what puts that rose tint onto everything.
But then, they say (and I feel) love is what we’re all seeking.
I mentioned recently, I’m hoping to have children one day, so I can experience a whole new kind of love.
And, particularly now, part of me hopes for that lightning bolt infinity symbol love. You know, the thing you know immediately will last forever. The kind between two people.
The kind in the movies.
Part of me suspects (hopes? fears?) that kind of love is the shallowest. The one that is the least real.
The one we all want.
Real love, between everyone, comes down to taking time to get to know and appreciate and cope with someone. Seeing something in them that is wonderful, and realising that it’s all of them. That little bit of perfection you glimpse, radiates outward and burns off all the faults.
Except it’s harder work.
Acceptance, patience and learning.
And you have to find someone who’ll work at it with you.
I might be wrong.
I’m still digging.
I’ll let you know when I find it.
Illustration by Maria.