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Love is Patient, Love is Kind, Love is Cruel, Love is Good.

If you know me, you know that I love love. I love the word, I love the idea, I love the feeling. I love the colours associated with it. I love everything about love, it’s just who I am. It could be that I was raised by a woman who is the epitome of love. It could be that I was given so much love growing up that I didn’t even know what to do with it and now I just have a bunch of it left to give away.

It sometimes feels like I was a big giant cup growing up and maybe my mom and the people around me were water and they just poured so much in that it overflowed and now there’s leftovers to give and give and give. It’s like a constantly replenished supply, and I don’t necessarily know that everyone is as lucky as I am when it comes to the re nourishing of their love fountain (ew love fountain, I know, gross).

Anyway, it may seem like a dream come true to be capable of love like this, but it’s not. You know that poem by that one guy (or girl I don’t even know) that goes like “love is patient love is kind love is blah blah blah”? It obviously didn’t go exactly like that, and I could google it but it’s more entertaining this way. I know that’s a super famous poem, but if we’re going full disclosure here the only reason I know it is because it was in that Mandy Moore movie ‘A Walk To Remember’. God damn, great movie. Anyway, moving on.

Love is patient and kind and all things wonderful I guess, but it more depends on who you are. Like, love can totally be all those things. It also can be cruel, though. Like really deeply cruel. Like the kind of cruel that kids are in school playgrounds, just spouting out words that they won’t remember saying, but you’ll remember hearing. Words that entered your realm while you were standing in a pile of gravel and stones that surrounded a play structure. The words changed you forever, and the place they came from just closed up and moved on after they were said. That’s what love feels like sometimes.

Love is patient, love is kind, but love is cruel.

Love is fun. Love is not just for lovers. Love is for friends. Love is laying on a couch with another human being that you wholeheartedly feel for. Love is laughing and pure bliss. Pure comfortability. Pure honesty. Love accompanies massive skip the dishes orders and exceptionally shitty movies about dominatrix (Fifty Shades, I see you). Love is how you feel when you’re with your friends on a bench somewhere in the summer. I know you know how the air felt, how the ice cream tasted, how the joke hit you right in the pit of your stomach. The good pit, not the bad one. That’s love too. Like, probably one of the most real kinds of love that exists.

Love is a liar. Love will creep in and make you believe you are feeling it when you are not. Like how some people say when they lose a limb, they still feel like it’s there in the process of trying to navigate life without it. Love will make you feel like it’s there when it’s not. Then it will leave like a ghost and you will feel the absence of a love that never even existed. It takes a long time to come back from the kind of love that was actually a lie. But you always do, every single time.

Love is… cruel. Love is cruel because it is so good. So blissfully and painfully good all at once. It’s a feeling that could make you fucking cry if you think too hard about not feeling that love anymore, especially if you’re really really feeling it. Love is cruel because it makes montages in your mind as it’s on its way out the door. It plays all the good parts, like in a rom com when the guy finally realizes that he loved the girl all along, or vice versa. The deepest laughs and the best sex and the intimate moments and the eye contact and the late nights and the Sunday mornings. It’s just a super cut of all the best things that ever happened. It plays again and again and again. You forget the bad stuff and you watch the montage. This happens when love is leaving, and that is why it is so, so cruel.

Love is hot. Like, genuinely sexy. Like fire red, passionately, unforgettably hot. Making love to someone you love, fucking someone you love, doing things in intimate passionate moments with the person you love is one of the hottest things you’ll ever experience. The passing thought of those intimate moments shoots a little feeling up into your stomach, and I know you know what I’m talking about. It’s that spicy, sexy, passionate love that each of us deserves. It doesn’t always last either, but it has its moments. It makes its appearances. It’s one of the best parts.

Love is… unpredictable. Unpredictable like the end of a movie that you never could’ve possibly seen coming in a million trillion bajillion years. Like the twist ending at the end of that one Robert Pattinson movie ‘Remember Me’. It’s funny because the last guy I dated said he called that ending from the very beginning of the movie, and I never saw it coming. In retrospect, we should’ve paid more attention to that realization. Love can be there one moment and gone the next. Love can change its mind. It doesn’t mean that love was never there, just because it woke up one morning and decided to disappear. It just happens like that, and you can never be quite ready for the feeling of the unpredicted loss of love, but it happens.

Love is weird. It can exist in so many different ways and so many different forms. You can love someone in the most deeply romantic sexual wonderful way for so many days, hours, years… and then you can love them as less than that but you don’t actually love them any less. Like, you still love them with the entire caliber that you did before, but just in a less fiery less passionate way. Nothing is weirder, harder, scarier, than looking someone in the eyes and saying ‘I love you, but I am not in love with you anymore’. Many people would walk away from a situation like this and think that was some kind of bullshit excuse, but I know now more than ever that this really truly happens to the very best people, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

I have known all kinds of love in this 26 years of life that I’ve lived so far. I’ve known the unconditional love of a mother. I’ve known the love of a mother that stepped into my life and took me in as her own, too. The love of a father, of sisters and brothers and family members. I’ve known the tireless love of real true friends, which is one of the deepest loves I will ever come to know. Like, the kind of love where if you think of the world ending, who you’d want in that room with you while the world burned down outside. Those friends. I’ve known the ‘first’ kind of love. The one that feels like it might be the only one so you hold on so fucking tight that it slips right out of your hands and you spend months or even years thinking that no one is ever going to love you ever again. God, what a mean kind of love that was. I’ve known the feeling of someone telling you they love you only because they want something from you. Whether that be in life, or in bed, it’s a kind of love that you believe in the moment and it still feels like a loss when it’s gone even though it never really existed. I’ve also known the kind of love that, even though momentary, was like movie screen love. Like I don’t know how it’ll ever get better than this kind of love. Like, making out to a really good song kind of love. Sometimes, even love like that walks away, but it doesn’t mean you didn’t really feel it.

Love is so many God damn things. So many. Patient and kind included. I’m not even sure how to close this down, but right now I’m feeling a lot about love. Leaving a love that you saw a future in at one point or another is tough, it really is. Loss of love will never not be hard. Leaving love, however, and not feeling like any time was wasted, is a feeling like no other. Leaving a love behind that was pure and honest, that taught you and held you up, that left you feeling nothing but whole and ready for whatever comes next because that’s how well you’ve been loved… that is real love. To leave love, still loving love. It’s really nice.

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