Written by Mac Montoya

Love: From Somebody Who’s Been

By: Anonymous

Isn’t it weird we have these definitions for the word “love”

And yet we are still finding our own explanations.

Love will rarely be the one in the movies.

We will rarely bump into someone holding their pile of books

Or having their morning coffee.

And have it in the movies where everything falls, eyes meet, smiles and snap – the heart falls down with them.

It’s not burning passion,

Nor flaming hearts.

Nor is it those snappy afternoon moments.

Love doesn’t proclaim itself from the highest of mountains.

Oddly, love is what comes after all of that.

It is much quieter than that, modest.

Being in love is not looking through someone’s flaws and choosing to ignore.

It means knowing every single one of them, and deciding that you’re going to put up with them for the sake of this so-called love.

You don’t FALL in love.

You dive into it, swimming into its depths–

And swimming for all its worth.

Love, what is it?

Well, it’s kind of like, here:

It is the silent smiles meaning more than the loudest laughter.

It is breaking a cookie in half and purposely giving the bigger half because you know it’s their favorite.

It is like coming home from abroad or from your neighbors.

Yup, that’s love.

It’s coming home.

Love, in its purest form, branches millions of statements and questions. Love as a kid could mean watching our favorite superheroes or playing with our favorite dolls. As a teenager, however, love could mean a handful of beautiful and tragic experiences waiting to be remembered or forgotten.

Love, in the poem, is defined through the experiences of its author. And just like the kind of love we experience, we are the authors of it. We start it, we fortify it, we destroy it, and we nurture it. Love is ours. We are the authors of our own love.

Create a beautiful one. Love beautifully.