Love’s like, the greatest thing. It’s your favorite team winning on your birthday and free donuts for everyone, plus also no red lights at all and the best songs playing in every store you walk into.
Love’s like, also, this really sneaky snake that has just enough venom to make it so you can’t walk or breathe. And it bites you over and over, and seems to live in your sock drawer. It kills you slowly and over and over.
And I’m not sure you ever find a cure, even if you want it more than all the best Eagles records and also playoff tickets. Free playoff tickets, in that section where they come and take your drink order.
Some years, Valentine’s Day turns you into a dreamer, high on a feeling and willing to do anything, like cook dinner for that special someone and maybe even rub their shoulders. Just their shoulders.
Some years, you gag a little inside for every Etsy email that comes through talking about your sweetie or darling or love in the air, because it’s like someone sprayed an entire aerosol can of “in your face” in your face.
Love invokes us to believe in miracles and magic.
Love leaves us courageous and love leaves us bitter. Love invokes us to believe in miracles and magic.
Love also forces our eyes upward and palms out to ask God, Jesus, Allah, Buddha or whoever has the shift of Destiny right now and asking, “What the effing hell is going on here??” Love cuts and slices, waits for you to heal – and slices again.
Love brings on the Norah Jones Pandora station and it wraps around you like a fancy resort blanket and fulfills you like a bacon double cheeseburger on someone else’s tab.
Love also punches you in the kidneys right when you’re falling asleep and is that Adele song you hate but is so effing true. Love can lurk on counter-top corners on the lookout for your funny bone.
And yet, we hope for it. We dream of it. We cannot wait for Valentine’s Day.
Whether love wraps its tendrils around you loaded with all the right voltage of electricity to activate your dreamer and motivate your passion, or it tightens around you like a python in barbed wire, sometimes you see love, or what could be love, and you stop for a minute and forget your own pain.
Love can be small and insignificant feeling, like a warm breeze on the African coast. Those warm breezes can become hurricanes.
In your own pain, you sometimes forget that no matter how your love played out, it started something like this. Small and insignificant feeling, like a warm breeze on the African coast. But those warm breezes sometimes become hurricanes.
It takes such perfect circumstances, it feels mathematically less possible than the Cleveland Browns making the playoffs or drafting a quarterback who isn’t a punk.
Back when love couldn’t decide whether it would be tempest or temptress for me, I saw this thing happen between two people I think are really stinking awesome.
It was small. He’s a boy who reminds me of me back in the day – awkward as a burp in church and hopeful as a lottery ticket. And he smiled at this awesome girl.
I felt a twinge of jealousy. Just for a moment. That he was in a spot to like a girl like her. That’s all. Because of the high opinion I have of the girl, and how I think he’s a good kid.
And it reminded me of how simple and beautiful it was.
Am I seeing the start of something good here? Maybe, maybe not.
The whole boy meets girl thing.
I wondered. Am I seeing the start of something good here? Maybe, maybe not.
But you know, love and all the good shit that goes with it, it’s awesome. Even when it has sucker punched you a few times and broken your pinkies on purpose and things like that.
The universe does good stuff every day. Saving puppies and manatees and dropping pennies in people’s paths to give them hope. It’s storybook endings and bliss and an ability to stay still long enough to drink in joy.
It also wreaks some serious damage, like category 5 damage with angry stingrays and harsh chemicals. It’s shocking lows and twisted words and abandoned faith. It’s believing you’re part of a greater whole – but discovering you aren’t.