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Not when I first met Him, nor that first afternoon He kissed me. As the sun lazily draped over us, He held me for the first time. Smiled at me, like He cared about me. It was nice, yes. Pleasant. Satisfying. But I didn’t know I’d love Him. It was just nice. To have someone hold me.
They say that you just know. The truth? I didn’t know for a long time. Long after the point when they say- if you don’t know- you should leave. I didn’t know how I felt about Him when I invited you over the next time and the next. I didn’t know what I even wanted. Did I want Him to love me? I couldn’t even answer that. I was tired and I didn’t want to think about that. I just wanted to feel and be with Him. And so, no, it wasn’t love at first sight. Truth be told, I don’t even know what that feels like. Lust at first sight, yes, but love…?
How are you sure they are right for you? How, well, how did -you- know? I mean, you’re in love now, yes? Yes, yes, I am. So how did you know when it happened?
When what happened? When a bolt of lightning filled with hearts and rainbow glitter struck my body? When Cupid’s arrow pierced my heart? How did I know what? That this was now a person to whom to bind my life with theirs till death do us part? I’m not dead yet, thank you very much. I’ll let you know how it goes; I promise.
What does that mean, anyway, when I say that I know I’m in love? I don’t believe love is something that you simply know and move on, but rather something you feel and remember and build. Day after day after day. Not a tedious motion, but a soothing and reassuring presence in one’s day. And it doesn’t matter when or where you feel it, because it will come on its own time. And on its own terms.
Love isn’t more real, you see, simply because you know. If you ever do. Oh, I know we want it to be true. That we’ll be struck by a wave of overpowering emotion. It’s a nice fantasy, but after all fantasies are rather empty at the end of the day. I prefer a bed weighted and warmed by another body or two. Somebodies to snuggle me tight on both sides all through the night.
So, no, I didn’t know He would love me, not in the beginning. I read that if one doesn’t know it’s love in six months, one should move on. Except I didn’t move on after six months. Or twelve. And here I am. And here we are. And nobody is going anywhere.
I think my ghosts approve.
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4
Kitten Goes On A Date
December 10, Noon-ish
Someone once asked me, “What is love?” Why do these thoughts invade my head before eight in the morning? I was quite happy in my dream world, thank you very much. I roll about lazily in bed, the sun coming through the basement window, lost in my own thoughts. It’s my weekend off, and the house is empty. He has warned me this doesn’t happen often, so I might as well enjoy it. I decide to let myself sleep in as long as I feel like. I might take a tub, too.
Love. Such a funny thing.
“What is love,” they asked. “You mean being in love, or love itself?”, I responded.
“Both,” they said.
“Being ‘in love’ is an infatuation. At least, that’s what it seems to mean. It’s used by the same sort of people, in my experience, as those who use phrases like ‘You have to protect the relationship’ or ‘I give 100% in my relationship.’ What does that even mean? I mean, honestly, if you think it out.
Sometimes I see people use ‘being in love,’ as a sort of excuse. An excuse to hurt someone, ‘I was in love, I wasn’t thinking clearly, I didn’t mean it.’ They are ‘in love,’ so they forget to take care of their friends. It’s a phrase for which I’ve lost affection. I might use it on occasion, I’m not strongly opposed to hearing it said by others, it just doesn’t really do much for me.
Being ‘in love’ is something I reserve for a very, very few— because it has been used too often to hurt me. But love itself? Love is beautiful. If it’s not everything, it’s most of it. At least for me. I don’t actually know what love actually is— the Form of love, in the Platonic sense— but I know what surrounds love. Sometimes that love runs deep. The kind of love in which that person’s needs and wants are interwoven with your own. The Love that connects you, always, to that person. The kind of love that most people crave, that satisfies a need similar to hunger or thirst. The kind of love reserved for the “lucky and the strong.”
That conversation, as you can see, stayed with me. I don’t have the best memory. But some things stay, without my even trying.
I get up, shower, brush my teeth. Love is a funny, funny thing. At least it always has been for me. I can’t pretend to understand everything about it, but I think I’ve actually learned quite a lot.
Sometimes, for me, love is a gift. This love, again as pertains to me, cannot be taken back. If you give someone a gift, it’s theirs to do with as they please. Isn’t it? I mean, who gives a gift and then demands it back at a later date. Maybe an engagement ring. But in general, it’s pretty poor taste to ask for a gift to be returned.
If you hurt me badly enough, I may never want to see you again. I may regret that I will never be able to act on that love. I may put it out of my mind. You can’t remember every gift you’ve ever given. Yet it is still your gift to use as you please.
Love, too, is a gift I might give to anyone. That has caused friction in the past. “You can’t love this person. They are married/too young/too old/too far away/a celebrity.” Oh, well. I said I loved them. I didn’t say I wanted a relationship with them. You don’t give a present, because you want a present in return. You give it, because you want to give it.
And sometimes love is simply lust. Okay, I’m not proud. At least not that proud. I can admit when I was just horny. And that it might have led to bad decision making on my part. Like, oh, the last several dates I’ve been on.
You see, I’ve pushed my social circle beyond the bar and the lovely bartender. Now it encompasses a group of social gamers that like to travel. Travel, gaming, geeky. All totally up my alley. Once a month, they have this board game night at a bar in Logan Square. It’s not easy to get to, but it’s not that hard. I don’t mind taking the bus.
Anyway, the long and the short of it is that I met this guy, Paris. At least that’s the name he goes by. And then there’s this other guy, Odin. I think this is his actual name, and he has a beard to match. And one more guy, Thor. Okay, his name isn’t Thor, but he is tall, blonde, with curly locks, so how is he not Thor?! Plus, it goes with the theme.
You ever feel like your life isn’t yours to control, but that something greater is controlling your life for you? I think my guardian angel’s sense of humor is sharper than ever. She’s just amusing herself at this point, and I can’t fault her for this. Immortal deities, or whatever she is, must be allowed some fun, too. Otherwise, eternity gets pretty boring.
One thing I can always say about this life of mine. It’s not boring.So, with a drumroll, I present to you three special dates that helped me clarify what and who I need in my life.
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