I am still learning what love is.
As children, we daydream of fairy tale romance, of princes on horseback and beautiful maidens. We giggle when we experience our first crush and cry dramatically if our affections aren’t returned. We spend years anticipating a first kiss; then fumble awkwardly when our lips meet a stranger’s. Without even realizing it, we begin a lifelong search for the meaning of love.
I haven’t read a single book on relationships. I have no idea what love is supposed to be. I do know real love comes when you are willing. Real love has nothing to do with superfluous chocolates or wilting flowers. Real love is committing wholly to another person, its diving in without a lifejacket and if need be, splashing around like crazy.
Real love is being willing to know a person inside out, to appreciate their flaws and idiosyncrasies, to dance through the ups and the downs. Real love is being there when you’d rather be somewhere else. It’s laughter, comfortable silences and kisses when you haven’t brushed your teeth. It’s melting into the other person; then letting go when they need time or space. It’s telling it like it is; and being willing to listen. It's romancing one another with just a smile.
Love is passionate and gentle, truthful and kind.
Love is a choice
Love is a gift.
Love is a mystery.
Let go and let love.