Very few people get it right, in my opinion. A lot of songwriters and authors just spew out the same recycled bullshit that's as sickeningly sweet and fake as store bought vanilla icing. Almost completely indigestible, in both cases. Taylor Swift croons "You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess" in her Billboard chart topper Love Story, Nicholas Sparks writes with passion in Dear John about how love is about realizing that another person's happiness is more important than your own.
Excuse me if I make a few spelling errors here, because my eyes can't stop rolling.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm not discrediting Swift or Sparks. In fact, I enjoy their work. And no, I'm not single, nor am I overly cynical. I did not channel Bridget Jones on February 14th, so get that image of me in a dark bedroom with cartons of chinese and a bottle of Arbor Mist, cradling a box of Kleenex as I drunkenly sob over The Notebook out of your minds, thank you. All I'm saying is that writing about love is about as easy as taking a college Calculus course. (Math nerds, hold your tongue). Everything just sounds so cliched. So much so that even the realization that there are no possible words to describe such a feeling as love has become a cliche.
Sigh. If I were old school and still used a typewriter I'd be sitting here tearing my hair out and throwing crumpled sheets of paper against the wall.
Now if I were to take a shot at describing that dreaded word, love, I'd still be at a loss for adjectives. Is it beautiful? Naturally. Painful? Of course. But who doesn't already know that?
Rather, I think love is reflected in the little details of our life that seem mundane. Take Christian, for example. (That's my boyfriend of four years). On the holiday that's universally frowned upon by single people, we didn't exchange gifts. I did buy him chocolates though, not because I felt I needed to, but because I wanted to. We woke up late, relaxed in bed watching television, and went into Boston later that evening. I saw countless starstruck couples, girls carrying bouquets, and I thought to myself, "I don't need any of this."
And I don't. I wasn't jealous of the balloons or the candy or the heart shaped boxes or the jewelry. We're in a recession people, no one truly needs to be giving corporate America any more of our hard earned dollars. Enjoying each other's company was more than enough for the both of us. After all, we rarely see each other. (We go to school in different states).
So, instead of waiting hours to get a seat at the Cheesecake Factory, we opted for a eight dollar dinner at the food court in the Prudential Center. Over a plate of sticky sweet Kung Pow chicken and white rice from Panda Express, Christian and I talked about anything and everything. Afterwards, I got us some ice cream. I did become temporarily disgruntled when he refused to try my Pumpkin Cheesecake flavor, how could he not appreciate Ben & Jerry's finest creation?!?
Then, we traveled home and made love under the stars, and I realized he was my everything. Kidding, kidding ;)
Seriously though, however unromantic my day sounds, it was perfect, and more than I could have asked for. The following day, after my teary eyed self left him at the United Airlines gate at Logan so he could return to school, I had not yet exited the airport before my cell phone buzzed to life in my pocket.
"I miss you," a text from Christian read. And I couldn't stop smiling. That's my own definition of love right there.
Ladies, from this point on, do your best not to scowl at your man if he doesn't come home with a dozen red roses and that much desired turquoise box from Holly Golightly's favorite place on Valentines Day. Cherish the simple fact of his existence in your life, and not just halfway through the second month of the year, but every single day. It's been said thousands of times, in so many different ways, but there's really no telling of what tomorrow will bring. If he's still coming home night after night with open arms and a love for you that never falters, that's all you can really ask for.
Ok, signing off now, before I get too sappy. Could that be a twinkle forming in my eye? Let's hope not.
Love, love, love. You are much too complicated to be one syllable. Wrapped up in your neat little bundle of two consonants and two vowels is a mystery that no one will ever truly understand, but there's no denying you make life interesting. Here's to you.
