*sings loudly* Baby don’t hurt me…NO MORE!
Ok, all song references aside, what is this love thing people keep talking about?
While I’m sure there are HUNDREDS of interpretations and definitions, this is simply how I choose to define it.
Love is bickering, not fighting.
Love is them remembering that you hate driving in the rain, so they don’t even consider you as an option for driver during those dreary days.
Love is letting them see you cry, even though you hate to let the tears fall in front of anyone.
Love is not wanting to spend a night apart.
Love is being able to sit in silence without feeling an uncomfortable void.
Love is them letting you steal all of their tshirts.
Love is when you look a hot mess and they think you’re just as beautiful as when you’re dolled up.
Love is kissing you despite your morning breath.
Love is feeling a sense of security in their presence.
Love is them coming to fix your flat tire in the pouring rain without an ounce of complaining.
Love is being able to let your crazy out (be real, we all have an ounce -or gallon- of it in us) without them running for the hills.
Love is them making sure there are always pizza rolls in your freezer.
Love is realizing that although others may want you, you don’t even notice because you’re so enamored with the thought of being their’s.
Love is singing loudly in the car and not being judged for sounding like a bag of fighting cats.
Love is when you don’t fix your hair or get out of your sweatpants all day on Sundays, engorging yourself with food that, albeit delicious, is terrible for you, and them adoring you for it.
Love is being brave enough to let someone into your life, regardless of fear and vulnerability.
Love is realizing that every past relationship was just a stepping stone of infatuation leading up to the genuine thing.
Love is adoring how perfectly imperfect they are rather than wanting to change them.
Love is them holding you together when all you can do is fall apart.
Love is being able to dance outrageously, and poorly, and they still think you’re cute.
Love is them cuddling with you even though you are like a furnace.
Love is them playing with your niece and nephew, and actually enjoying it.
Love is showing them how absolutely and outrageously weird you are, and rather than just tolerating your quirks, they actually adore you all the more for them.
Love is being swept off of your feet in a whirlwind of unfamiliar, terrifying emotions just when you’ve become so jaded at the thought of love.
Love is an action. And it is amazing. Love is the best thing we do. It’s inexplicably magical and, by some divine twist of fate, it has found me.