Though, not in the same way you love your mother or your dog or Louis CK’s stand up. Context matters and the definition varies. You could open up a dictionary and find that it means strong affection or tenderness towards another or warm attachment or enthusiasm or the object of attachment. Sometimes it’s synonymous with sex or with God. Sometimes it’s a score of zero in tennis.
But you really love your girlfriend. You don’t lump her in with that other stuff. You tell her every day. You text it to her while she’s at work. Love, in this context, isn’t white noise. You know exactly what it means, even if putting it into words is difficult. It’s a warm feeling you get when she’s around, but not take-off-your-sweater-warm or anything; it’s an emotional warmth from inside your heart, but not literally in your heart, of course; it’s more like a ray of sunlight piercing your soul. You’ve turned into a poet even though you flunked remedial English.
But that’s not really it. You metaphorize because words are insufficient. You love her because you love her because you love her. You said it for the first time two weeks ago and now she fucks you on the regular. That’s incidental.
You know because you’ve never felt this way about a person before. You know because you’d crumble if she left. You know because the thought of her with somebody else makes you think violent thoughts.
You love her because you love her because you love her.
You tell her every day. You tell her even though it begins to feel rehearsed. You tell her even though you’re bored. You tell her even though you probably wouldn’t crumble if she left. You tell her even though the thought of her with somebody else doesn’t sting like it used to. You tell her even though you don’t know what you mean and you wish you’d been able to put it into words in the first place. You tell her because it’s comfortable. You tell her because once you’ve started, you don’t stop. Not til it’s over.
You love your mom. You love your dog. You love Playstation 3, Breaking Bad, and Honey Bunches of Oats. You love your bass guitar, your bong, Toy Story 3, Old Spice deodorant, internet porn, the Good Will Hunting soundtrack, and boneless buffalo chicken tenders.
And you love your girlfriend.