I used to feel really weird when other fellows told me they loved me.
I think I was being sorta picky with my definition of “love” – it was like, “you’ve only known me like, 4 months man, do you really even know me enough to ‘love’ me” kinda stuff. It was also, I think, just because of the impermanence of us being together – I’d see everyone for 8 months, sure, but after that, who knows? Is “love” something that can exist despite possible years and years of distance and lack of communication?
Earlier today though, when I was showering (because thinking about things when you shower is a universal truth), I had a thought.
Overthinking the word “love” and what it correct usage and meaning is all fine and good, Aus, but do you really need to? Because at its core, love isn’t just some literary term that people use to sound good and sweet. Love isn’t just a word to puzzle over.
Love is a feeling.
And if what my friends and I, from both my inside and outside my cohort, have had here – in bus rides, late-night talks, and every simple moment together – if that’s not “love,” what is?
Besides, there’s always room for a little more love in life, isn’t there?
So, to end this very vague and wonky blog, I will say:
To everyone in my life who’s made a connection with me and impacted me – I don’t think I’ve told all of you that I love you. Honestly, though?
I think most of you already know.
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(FOUND THAT RAD CLIP ART ON THE INTERWEBS FROM CLKER.COM I CITE MY SOURCES)
