Love is a four letter word
“Whatever this is, it’s not love,” I told myself, even as I knew it was probably a lie. I had made myself a promise, while sitting in the airport at 5:40 am, waiting for my flight, that I would keep my heart out of the affair. “He loves someone else,” I reminded myself. “Do not pass go, do not collect $200 and do NOT fall for him.” But it was too late. And as I lay beside him that night, his long legs tangled with mine, his breathing slow and even, I whispered so softly only God could hear, “I think you will be the one to break my heart.”
“It’s not love,” I swore again, a week later while trying to convince myself my heart was still safe. It was warmth and affection and friendship and trust and admiration and respect but definitely not love. For once in my life, I’d felt seen. Heard. Respected. None of which aligned with my experiences or understanding of love. Love was, to my knowledge, ownership and control; giving up my needs and wants in service of another’s. It was staying silent when I wanted to scream and laughing when I wanted to cry. It was never ever being vulnerable because any weakness was turned against me. It was saying “I love you” when I wanted to say “I hate you” and sleeping together when I’d rather sleep alone.
When my marriage ended, I swore off love. I never wanted to surrender that much of myself again. I would be my own despot, dictate my life how I wanted and walk the paths I pleased for as long as I pleased. And so, this fling seemed to be the perfect arrangement. He was a good friend and had been brutally honest about his heart being engaged elsewhere. I was happy about this. I was happy for him. There was no risk that he would develop feelings for me and I could keep my heart safely boxed up and not feel guilty. But love, it turns out, doesn’t always announce itself. And it follows nobody’s rules. I fell in love slowly, reluctantly, then suddenly, all at once. And it wasn’t surrender or ownership. It was his pleasure being my pleasure and his pain my pain. It was joy: pure unadulterated enthusiasm for our time together. But that joy is also tinged with sadness because I know things will change if I say those three words. And so I cannot bring myself to say, “I love you.” Love, it seems, is a four letter word.
What I'm drinking: a vial of my own tears. Just kidding. Cabernet is for contemplation and as I contemplate breaking all my own rules, I'm enjoying a bottle of BNA Winegroup's 2013 Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon, "The Rule." Spearmint and saddlesoap with subtle black fruit and silky tannins, it's like sex in a bottle.
“It’s not love,” I swore again, a week later while trying to convince myself my heart was still safe. It was warmth and affection and friendship and trust and admiration and respect but definitely not love. For once in my life, I’d felt seen. Heard. Respected. None of which aligned with my experiences or understanding of love. Love was, to my knowledge, ownership and control; giving up my needs and wants in service of another’s. It was staying silent when I wanted to scream and laughing when I wanted to cry. It was never ever being vulnerable because any weakness was turned against me. It was saying “I love you” when I wanted to say “I hate you” and sleeping together when I’d rather sleep alone.
When my marriage ended, I swore off love. I never wanted to surrender that much of myself again. I would be my own despot, dictate my life how I wanted and walk the paths I pleased for as long as I pleased. And so, this fling seemed to be the perfect arrangement. He was a good friend and had been brutally honest about his heart being engaged elsewhere. I was happy about this. I was happy for him. There was no risk that he would develop feelings for me and I could keep my heart safely boxed up and not feel guilty. But love, it turns out, doesn’t always announce itself. And it follows nobody’s rules. I fell in love slowly, reluctantly, then suddenly, all at once. And it wasn’t surrender or ownership. It was his pleasure being my pleasure and his pain my pain. It was joy: pure unadulterated enthusiasm for our time together. But that joy is also tinged with sadness because I know things will change if I say those three words. And so I cannot bring myself to say, “I love you.” Love, it seems, is a four letter word.
What I'm drinking: a vial of my own tears. Just kidding. Cabernet is for contemplation and as I contemplate breaking all my own rules, I'm enjoying a bottle of BNA Winegroup's 2013 Napa Valley Cabernet Sauvignon, "The Rule." Spearmint and saddlesoap with subtle black fruit and silky tannins, it's like sex in a bottle.
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