On Love
Love is an everyday thing, something that you build and work on; a process, a flow.
I’ve never liked celebrating Valentine’s Day. I don’t see the point in the holiday. For me, love is an everyday thing, something that you build and work on; a process, a flow.
The idea of romantic love never caught my attention: flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, and candlelit dates seem like empty paraphernalia.
I get that some people enjoy it, it must be nice celebrating love that way, but it just doesn’t work for me.
I always forget anniversaries and special dates.
I feel like there are much more meaningful ways of expressing love, like giving away a book, going out for coffee, a hug from a loved one when you are at your lowest.
Sharing your favorite TV show or movie with someone, even if, later on, it hurts to watch it alone.
A lick from your dog.
Sometimes with a small gesture, like a squeeze or a look, you know it’s love.
So what is love, anyway? A feeling, a state of mind, a combination of actions and words. I can’t seem to find a definition.
Sometimes love is walking away when you know it’s the best thing to do, even if you don’t want to.
A moment of silence.
Grieving and hurting, too.
It’s hard for me to write about it. It’s such a big thing that it ends up feeling unfathomable.
There are a lot of times when we take it for granted, but I know I feel love when I’m spending time with my grandmas, or when I see the look in my dog’s eye. When I know what my best friend is thinking without either of us saying a word, and starting to laugh about it.
I say ‘I love you’ countless times to the ones I love. Every time I say goodbye to a friend or someone in my family (even if we’ll see each other later that same day or soon) I shout ‘te amo’, and they laugh cause they say I’m intense and overly sensitive.
I just don’t want them to forget it.
Self-love is the hardest one for me. How can I love myself like I love other people when there’s so much angst, guilt, and anxiety inside me? They cloud everything, turning the nicest day obscure. There’s always that shadow lurking, ‘Am I doing enough? Is this the right decision? What if I regret it? What will I do then?’
It’s tiring and confusing.
I feel guilty for doing one thing as well as its opposite, so I constantly wonder what my true feelings are.
Only when I’m writing I get a sense of security. When I grab my pen and a piece of paper, and put down everything I have inside me bubbling, about to explode. I know I’m being one hundred percent honest there, trusting myself.
And I guess that’s a way of showing self-love: creating and giving myself a safe space to be who I am, no matter the consequences.
https://medium.com/modern-women/modern-women-february-writing-prompts-0918218b4a14
