Love. You’re In It.

March 31st 2014

Story originally written and experienced: January 10th 2013

We’ve all asked it.

 In some way.

 At least once.

 To other people.

 And definitely yourself.

 “Am I in Love?”

 “Was I in love?”

 “How do I know?”

 “Will I ever be?”

 “…What does it even mean?”

 “Will I ever find something like that…ever..?”

 “Will I find something like that ever…again?

 I started to hear these questions

over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over  and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over  and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over

Again.

These days.

 From curious friends. family. co workers. followers. acquaintances. strangers. and more.

 Some going through a break up. Some getting married. Some completely single. Others completely content.

 And this reoccurring topic seemed to

d

r

i

p

Into every coffee date. Dinner date. Group get together. Late night phone call. Random text. Email. Article.

–  –  

Nearby conversation.

                        – –

Filling every catch up session and small-talk pocket with the classic 3:

“How are you?”

“Anything new?” and

“So how’s (insert most relevant lover here)?”

And it’s nice because someone asked. And sometimes it’s stressful because they did. Because you don’t really have an answer. And sometimes you’re not really sure.

And these days being in love or being involved in it.just feels.so.mandatory.

And I think that’s why we all stress out.

So.

One day.

I took a

long

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walk

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home

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after

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work.

Thinking about the cumulated episodes I had collected lately of distressed friends, an older couple’s love advice, surprise engagements, surprise break ups, people who wished they had it, and others who couldn’t possibly want to be               farther away.

  Just to see if I could figure it out. Figure something out.

Maybe a general internal answer. For all of us.

Just to have it.

Whether you’re in it. Out of it. Craving it. Or indifferent.

Because it will forever exist. happen.and be asked about.

I can promise you that.

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So

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I kept

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walking

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Until I reached home.

Then I went to my room.

Grabbed a pen.

(Ate some cheez its.)

 And just kind of wrote this:

 I haven’t the slightest fucking clue.

 About a lot of things.

 Love being damn one of them.

 I’ve been in it. Felt it. Acknowledged it. Had it. Lost it. Witnessed it. Appreciated it. Discarded it. And cherished it.

Relentlessly.

 And.

 I don’t know much.

 But I think.

 I think I know this:

 It raises a lot of  damn questions.

 And drops a lot of hearts.

 It’s a sincere combination of the basics—mixed with confidential details.

 The basics being:

The enjoyment of company. A genuine effort both physical and mental. An exceptional will to compromise. A given addiction to adoring the hell out of the type of person that they are. And being proud of it too. 

         Anchored with the adjective unconditional. 

Which can be both vital and dangerous.

It’s a quality that can save a relationship.

And endanger it too.

 

In one respect, it has the capacity

to withstand infidelities.

And alter your self worth.

Take advantage of expected kindness

And unknowingly abuse it too.

And then in complete other, it’s the

very catalyst that makes love last long.

The envy of every book, movie and person.

Passionately convinced and proud that we’ve

successfully defined the word itself.

 

But wait.

There’s more.

The confidential details to be exact.

 The 

“I love the way you ___”

“You’re different because ____”

“The reason you stand above the rest is ___”

“I’d choose you every time because____”

“If given the choice between you and Beyonce as a best friend, I’d definitely think about choosing you.”

I'll consider it!

I’ll consider it!

 

So how do you know if you’re in it?

If it’s real?

And if it’s right?

Thing is:

We have the misconception that love is simply defined as a feeling.

When really.

It’s more of a fact.

How you treat it. How much you want it. And how much you care.

Whether it’s a lover.

Or a friend.

You’re the happiest when you’re doing something you love. With a person you love.  

You’re the saddest when it’s absent. And angriest when it spontaneously undermines.

You’re excited when it escalates. And feel just a little more complete when it’s around.

It gives you tolerance for things you didn’t think you’d have a tolerance for. And makes you forgive things you didn’t think you could.

It’s not disposable. Not if it’s real. It can definitely dwindle. But never truly erases.

And it comes in the form of:

A lover.

A best friend.

A damn good parent.

 A child.

 A fulfilling hobby.

  A you.

 A them.

The way every important person in your life that has ever loved the hell out of you from day one until now, is an incredible product of who you choose to keep around. And who chooses to keep you around too. 

And realizing.

We’ve all been lovers this whole damn time.

With a lot of people.

In a lot of ways.

And that’s a damn fact.