"I love him." She says. And she says it over and over and day in and day out.
Makes me think of the lyrics from a song I used to sing a long time ago: "Where is love? Does it fall from skies above?"
I've been accused of not understanding it. To scoff with disdain at the futility of dates and silly simpering stares in coffee shops. Guilty as charged. Dating is not love. Setting a date to meet up and then going frantic waiting for the day to arrive when you wash your hair with the good shampoo that makes it bounce, and then turn up in something you think you look good in but which the guy will barely notice is not love! It is however, one hell of an effort!
What I think love means...
Time. It means having all the time in the world to give and waste. To count hours. To count minutes or even seconds before you get to see them. To ponder over days or weeks or months. To spend together countless years and decades perhaps. To live in moments big and small when everything seems to unfold as if only for the two of you.
It means long walks in absolute silence on lost roads and warm hands with entwined fingers. When you stop looking for stops and signs and transport and conversation.
It means caterpillars, moths and butterflies, the works! It means a warm fuzzy feeling at the goofiness and the intimacy and the hugs and scents.
It means pain. It means heart wrenching sobs which tear you up on the inside and which you still do for that one person. It means an ache which grows and smoulders within.
Love lasts. It's as simple as that. You either know that feeling or you don't. It's not a story or a fairytale. It doesn't always have happy endings. It's as simple as the feeling of warmth.
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