Love, Itself.

I always thought love was a feeling. But it isn’t. Love isn’t even an emotion. Part of the reason love is so indescribable, and so misunderstood, is because love is an action. It’s something you do, is to love. I can tell you that when I’m hungry, my stomach feels like a mountain avalanche is happening inside of it; rumbling and shaking and growling, screaming to be fed. But when I’m driving, it’s so hard to explain that to someone who’s never driven before. I just drive. Start the car, change my gears, accelerate, brakes, turn signal, whatever. I just drive. I can’t explain well enough how I drive. And everyone has different ways that they explain how they drive, but it’s hard to understand until you do it yourself; then you have your own way of explaining it. That’s love. The problem with that is, you can love just about anyone or anything. I love my mom and dad. I love my sisters and brothers. I love my cat and my dog. I love my car, roses, the smell of New York City, chocolate, cheese, being warm in the winter. I love all of these things, but there is no way to really measure that love. Do I love cheese more than I love flowers? Do I love my mom more than my dad or my sisters or brothers? Just because I have any favorites, does that mean I love the color yellow any less than I love my new shoes? Love isn’t less or more. What you’re willing to do for the things and people you love, that’s what matters. I’d be willing to learn to fly using just my own two arms for my mom, I’d be willing to walk the long way home for my brand-new shoes, and I’d be willing to climb 70 feet to save my cats. If these things weigh differently for you, they may weigh the same for someone else, or in different ways. I can tell you, when I’m sad, I want to cry, I want to lock myself away, and I want to be alone. When I love, I want to save the world. Their world. Whatever it is that I love, I want to save it from harm, even from a speck of dirt. When I love, I don’t feel anything inside of me. Love isn’t how romance novels make it out to be. My heart doesn’t flutter, and I don’t lose my breath when I hear someone say, “I love you.” I don’t feel nervous to say it back anymore. I’ve only been nervous to say it to people I date. Because what if I don’t love them. What if I’m only saying it to feel something, to feel what love-story novelists say I’m supposed to feel. What if I force myself to feel that way, what if I’m tricking myself. That was before I knew the feeling doesn’t matter. What would you be willing to do for the people you love? What would you be willing to do for the people you think you love? What would I be willing to do for her? Would I be willing to fly?