The way I love you is rather boring when I talk about it, and I couldn’t be happier.
It’s not that you’re dull or uninteresting, or that I really think you’re boring. Not in the slightest. Yet, the kind of love people want to talk about and hear of is the all consuming and dramatic kind of love. The kind that you feel in your soul that immerses you underwater and you can’t breathe. Where the other person is a drug of sorts, and their departure from your side means you’re no longer able to function. An addiction, a life source, the universe; that kind of love is what movies are made of, what people talk about, and what books detail.
That’s why I don’t talk about you.
The way I love you started long before we knew it, and continues every day that I’m living. It didn’t manifest itself with angels harmonizing and lights shining on you. It started with a connection that surpassed any level of relationship I could name. It always felt too big to just call you a friend, or someone that I knew. You were in my head, in my bones, and in my heart in such a subtle way, that it never occurred to me that I loved you.
I loved others, and I loved them intensely. I loved them straight out of movie quotes and romance novels. The way a girl devotes all her energy to the love of her life. It was all consuming, and every detail of it was something I felt in a way that was hard to explain, but I attempted to every chance that I had. He was my everything and my forever. People called that real love, and I knew for a fact it was. It was one of those “too good to be true” love stories, the kind of relationship that made people jealous and the talk of the social setting.
However, I don’t want that kind of love again.
Although it was something I don’t regret, it also was too much. I was willing to give up everything that I was for this person. I was willing to change and rearrange my dreams and desires in the name of this kind of love, and looking back I realize that love can’t be one person willing to give up their whole self to fit with another person. Love should never be that overshadowing.
Because I’d say “I love him carefully. I love him the way I love books. The way I love stopping to watch the stars at night. The way I love sleep. I love him in the comfortable ways that are also awe inspiring. Because even on my most bored days, or angry ones, or curious ones, I just look at him and it’s like familiarity in the best possible way. I feel him in my bones, like a hum that is ever comforting and sure. Even when he’s all over the place, he’s steady. Even on his most selfish, angry, bored, or sad days, he loves me in the way I love him. Steady. Sure. Familiar.”
No one wants to hear about that.