Perhaps love is me wanting to spend all my time with you, be it doing nothing, or doing the most boring thing in the world, as long as you’re beside me.
Perhaps love is that little tinge of jealousy that I get within me when you jokingly compare me to some other guy that you see on the streets.
Perhaps it is that insecurity that you give me because I could never imagine living without you by my side in the future.
Perhaps love is me wanting to cuddle you and keep you by my side while we talk about our past wounds, our fears, or the people who’ve hurt and left us. And the one who stayed, who loved us for our ugliness and imperfections. The one still here.
Perhaps love is how I smile uncontrollably to myself every time I talk to a friend about you, or when I think about you. Or when I look back at our messages. Or when something reminds me about you, your smile, your heart, your personality. Anything. Anything about you.
Perhaps love is my idealistic approach in setting the direction for our relationship.
Perhaps it is thinking about us growing old together until we’re 70 (thanks for the inspiration, Ed) and still holding our hands as we walk down the streets every day.
Perhaps love is me forgiving and forgetting the people who’ve hurt me in the past and left those ugly scars on my heart that you adore so much because, the truth is, they no longer matter once you’ve appeared in my life.
Perhaps love is me looking at another girl who may be prettier/slimmer/more adorable than you but still knowing that you are the one, and the only one, regardless of who I meet in the future. Their beauty is temporary. Your beauty, dear, is permanent, no matter how you might look 20 years down the road.
And perhaps it is how I like your (sometimes) sucky personality because, well, none of us are perfect individuals. And your flaws, in fact, make you more adorable than ever before.
Perhaps love is you still putting in that ridiculous amount of trust in me despite my emotional unavailability.
Perhaps it is that risk that you’re willing to take again, that risk of being hurt by my toxicity.
Perhaps love is how you bring out my best and take away my fears and insecurities and lock them in a box, never to be opened ever again.
Perhaps it is you believing in me, and making me believe in myself again.
Perhaps love is all that you do for me, because of me, and only for me.
Perhaps love is me picking myself up from all the falls that I’ve suffered at the hands of others.
Perhaps love is me not wanting to make you suffer the same fate as me. That urge for me to protect and shelter you, and that reflex action of me always caring about you, 24/7.
Perhaps it is me walking out of emotional unavailability and into commitment, into us, and into our future.
Perhaps it is my U-turn on my decision to give up on love because I’m someone who is harder to love than the others.
And perhaps, it is how I’ve put my 110% trust into you, and how I fell for you, head first, knowing that you will be there to catch me at the bottom.
Perhaps, love is you and me. Us.
Perhaps love has no socially acceptable definition. Maybe love has no definite guidebook or a definitive approach to it at all. Maybe all of us are meant to love another differently and there is no one “right” way to love. No ‘one size fits all.’
Perhaps it is all about the warmth in our hearts and the loss of all tools of thinking and the destruction of our rationality.
Perhaps it does not have to be the actions; perhaps it is in the actions.
Perhaps it is comparing our relationship with others’ because I want to be the best at loving, to make you the happiest girl in the world when I’m with you.
But perhaps, love is as simple as, “Thinking about you”, “How was your day” and “I’m sorry”.