Love is a four letter word spelt like ‘home’.
That sounds like ‘echo’, a part of myself both familiar and forign.
That feels like ‘safe’ to let my guard down and relax into like a warm bath.
That tastes like ‘fire’ a fierce force of nature that can’t easily be quenched.
Love sticks to my ribcage like a good meal, and nourishes the essential parts of me in a way that ‘liking’ just never will. I can like someone very much, because indeed they’ve given me no reason not to, perhaps have given many pains that I should form a favourable opinion of them, but that’s all like is to me, an absence of dislike.
Love can withstand the seasons of like or dislike. Indeed I dislike many things about many people I love deeply. Love is a homing device that attracts ‘your people’. I know it is love because of how part of me fits with part of them to feel more whole, there is a sense of belonging beyond pleasure or pain, love enhances the experience of connection, and reflects back parts of my soul I could not see without them.
I am not guarded with my love. I fall deeply and soundly in love with many things and people everyday: the smell of lilacs, taste of fresh bread, a moving piece of music, a new true friend. One is not less than the other for they each make my life more vibrantly abundant.
I found this in a draft on my phone from May. A friend asked how you knew whether you were in love & this was my response.