love – the space between the notes

Once upon a time, I used the word soulmate. Back then I used the word #love more freely as well. When I dated someone, it was usually a question of not if but when someone would say “I love you”. It just flowed at some point, and someone would say it, and the other person would say it back, even though one usually was in it more than the other. It wasn’t that big a deal, even though we thought it was.

Now the word love, in terms of romantic context, might as well be wrapped in barbed wire because of how unlikely I am to say it, even when I may feel it. The last person who really heard it from me, organically and truly from the heart with full intent, was 13 years ago. That person still appears in my dreams fairly regularly; he was in them last night. We haven’t spoken in years. I don’t even know where he is now. That season ended. It was there for a purpose greater than he or I. It saddens me that our friendship was collateral damage from that, but I cannot deny the greater good it served.

The thing is, when I really think about it, that wasn’t any more love than anything else could be. What made it love was that we were both willing to call it that.

As we age, everything becomes a function of convenience. If the puzzle piece doesn’t fit exactly, we don’t have time for it. If we disagree about some things, why bother. If it’s not forever, why even play?

What happens through this is that we miss out on loving a lot of people, and we miss out on the true potential and magic that allowing oneself to express those three simple words can offer. There is such a stigma attached to them. People think that there are all sorts of expectations attached to those words, so they would rather not ever say them, rather not ever even allow themselves to think them in association with a romantic partner or some such person of interest. We lie to ourselves and say it’s not that serious as long as we don’t say those words. They will come into our minds, and we brush them aside because of the connotations they imply. We don’t want to have to follow up with action, so we don’t dare say the words.

We are fucking up in doing so. I said what I said.

We all need to stop being such weenies about it, myself included. I say it to my friends all the time, but I will sew my lips closed or chop off my fingers before saying it or writing it to a significant other. “It’s too soon. It can’t be real love, don’t you dare say it.” I tell myself, choking the words away to be eaten up and dissolved inside me, where they die a little more.

Well, you know what? If you don’t ever say it, it won’t ever be real.

May everyone I know who does this be freed from their semantic prison.

Have a good day.