What Love Means to Me.

I was bored one day so I asked a friend to give me something to draw. Expecting to receive some some sort of quote I’d have to hand letter or typographically solve instead I get this:

“Draw what love is to you.”

Well fuck me I wasn’t expecting that. It was hard because #1 it’s such an abstract thing. #2 There’s a ton of things I love, but that wasn’t what she asked me. She asked me to draw what love is to me. Like the idea of it. And so I just let that question sit.

For literally a couple months I didn’t have an answer. I’d get anxiety whenever I thought about it. I even at times questioned if I even knew what love is/was.

Eventually I came to the below conclusion. I wrote a few words, drew my interpretation and let this sit for ANOTHER few weeks. I alternate between hating it and feeling good about it. I’ve tried to beat it. I’ve tried to think of other definitions of Love…and nothing. It makes me feel cheesy. Part of me wishes I had a more profound answer. But I don’t. All I ended up with was:


Love is a warm, pulsing light surrounded by darkness. It sits in a *somewhat* balance with its negative counterpart. It’s always there and for the *most* part it’s consistent. Not too big. Not too small. Reliable.

At least, it tricks you into 
thinking it’s reliable.


Sometimes (more often then I’d like to admit) love loses its rhythm and entertains the idea of just fading away. Its counterpart always, always seizes these opportunities to take up as much real estate as it can. It suffocates the little center by absorbing everything good around until it becomes something you can barely see. That’s its job and I can’t get mad at it for doing what it’s supposed to.


Occasionally though, love expands bigger than it ever thought it could and pushes out and away anything dark and terrible that surrounds it. It builds and builds until it fills all the space it can. But it’s never able to hold it for very long. These moments are rare and fleeting, no matter how amazing and bright they can seem at the time. Slightly taken off guard, the darkness quickly recovers and in retaliation squeezes the light down to remind it of its place.


But mostly it’s just this. Constant. Balanced (though the darkness always seems to have slightly more than the light). Always there and trying as best as it can to gain more real estate.


I wish I could have some beautifully rendered drawing about how love is this vast thing that fills my life to the brim every day. That it will save me or that it helps light my way when I get lost.

But it typically doesn’t.

It doesn’t always hold me up when things get bad and it doesn’t try to. It is consistently there for me though. Always letting me know there are reasons to not give up. But it gets tired sometimes. Just like I do. When it does, the darkness does what it’s meant to do. Absorbs all color around it.

One side never wins over the other though. That gives me hope. Plus, those moments where that bright center gets so big it almost fills the frame…those moments are worth the times where love gets tired.

So that’s what love is to me. Simple. Basic. Flawed. But constant. No matter what, it has been and, hopefully will always be, constant.