you know me better than that.

someone asked me not long ago, what does love feel like.
i couldn't imagine not knowing.
but, like all good questions, i thought about it long and hard.

you love someone when they make your heart feel warm.
love is eating food off their plate without asking.
love is taking a coffee cup from someone's hands, just knowing to, as they slide into the car.

love is a grown man bawling as he hears news over the phone about the loss of someone he loves, and then putting on a happy face for someone else who needs it.

love is, i'll see you in the morning.

but that didn't get me very far. i know love isn't any of that. love is like an ocean.

it looks huge and immeasurable, insurmountable and controlled by something else, but when you get up close, when you put your hands in it, it trickles amiably down your fingers and drips back into the swell of the sea and far away again.
you'll remember the colors of the pebbles that trickled under its waves and tapped the tops of your feet as you stood, discovering its nearness. you'll remember the swirls on the stones, the shapes and the weight. and as soon as you are certain you'll have their image burned into your memory more closely than you name, they'll be swept away with a wink and you'll not even be able to recall what you were tying to remember. in their place will be a whole new closeness, which makes the last as worthless as regret.
looking into the rippling water up close, you will understand love perfectly. it will be clear, concise, and simple. as soon as you stand back up; it will blur and fizz and spin out of control faster than you could have realized you had it all figured out.
love is a little like that.
it seeps into the sand, and disappears into the earth. walking away, you can still feel it between your nails.

its as big as it is small.

love is in the story we learned in sunday school about the poor women who quietly put her small coins towards the church with all her heart, as the rich man dumped his bags and bags of gold and watched to see who could see him and his contribution.

love for me, was listening to mass in Latin as the 13th century bells rang out, shaking the pigeons off their cast metal.

love for me, is a boring phone call about your day, because i have been thinking about you, in it, since i woke up.
love for me, was the warm summer sun, honey glazed almonds and a cup of coffee on the front porch as we waited for the rays to burn off the dew.

love was when you shouted at me. when you screamed he didn't deserve me. love was knowing that would make me angry with you, but not caring.

love was whispering ...mountains...
love was knowing, i was already thinking that.

love was looking the other way, but not turning you head too far.

love 'is how you let me snap at you, and block me from the world, taking the bitterness i throw at you like a filter. love is that we both know our roles, and i know you are letting me do this to you.

love is seeing your thoughts before they come out of your mouth. love is mine, meeting them, and dancing with them in the air.

but none of that explained it either. love was yes, love was no. love was not ever maybe.
love is faking a smile.
love is the only real thing.

love happens when you are ready to be honest. love happens when you straighten everything out inside. lining everything up like a set of dominoes, but never expecting them to fall.
then standing like an innocent bystander, watching, as the wreckage tumbles out of the blessed control you only thought you had.

love was knowing i was lying to you, knowing i knew you knew and letting me get away with it.

love is remembering you hate thunderstorms.
love is remembering you love the rain.

that wasn't enough for love though either.
love is doing something for someone and not expecting anything in return.
some people don't think that's possible. that we always get something, and selflessness like that doesn't exist. maybe then, we expect less. maybe we are willing to take what others would see as the short end of the straw, the raw deal, the smaller half, over and over and over again.

we just can't concede that it doesn't make sense that while at work all day, i just think about your smile and after 8 tiring hours, flashing me a grin is all i need.

it doesn't make sense that you can scream, and cry and throw a tantrum on the floor, you can yell at me and offer threats and when you have finally let go of your last tear, you bring your calm toddler body back to me, and i feel honored to be the one who can wipe the tears from your little cheeks.

it doesn't seem fair that after a huge transgression, betrayal and mistrust, two simple honest words "i'm sorry" covers it like fresh fallen snow.


no, that shouldn't be right. that doesn't seem fair.
but love was the only thing that was always right.
and for all know, it always will be.
and i have to, after thinking long and hard, leave it at that.