Another Definiton Of Love

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Sharon McCutcheon / Unsplash

Love is something one struggles to explain. Its inconsistency is perhaps its greatest constant. It sounds and smells and looks and feels and tastes like everything you’ve always known and nothing you’ve ever experienced – all at once.

There is more to Love than the silent whispers between rustling bedsheets in the dark. Love is the loud declarations and Love is the dead silence as we strive in desperation to string together words and breathe meaning into them. Love is the shy and softly spoken ‘hello’ and the broken ‘goodbye’ that escapes your lips in between heart-wrenching sobs. It is the loud arguments, the banging of pots and pans and doors. It is the sound of lost tempers and the regretful ‘sorry’ that follows, barely audible, barely more than a whisper.

Love is the brightness in her eyes as he catches her eye. It is the dimness of his smile as his expression changes to one of utter seriousness. Love is the youthful glow; the sun-kissed skin. Love is the fine lines carved on his face from years of laughter. Love is the grey in her hair. Love is the tall dark stranger and Love is the familiar face.

Love is the smell of your lover’s hair and the shampoo that she wears. It is his strong aftershave. It is the perfume on her clothes. Love smells like the flowers he brings to her door; it smells like the fabric flowers she wears in her hair. Love is the smell that lingers in the air – the flowers that sit robbed off their scent, dying in the vase.

Love is that uncontrollable but not unwelcome fluttering in the place where anatomy says your heart should be. Love is the tightness of the chest, the lump in your throat as your emotions threaten to spill out. It is the warmth elicited in his embrace and the cold touch of the pillow where she no longer sleeps.

Love is the sweet taste of his kisses; the taste of her fragrant skin. Love is the taste of the alcohol he drinks to drown his insistent sorrows. It is the champagne drunk in celebration. It is the salty taste of tears as they stream down his face. It is the salty tears of joy. Love is the sweet and Love is the sour.

And Love – once you hear it, once you see it, once you smell it, once you feel and taste it,

Nothing will ever sound, smell, feel and taste the same

Ever Again.  TC mark                               

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