(part of the What is Love series)
Love means taking a long, contemplative, extremely thoughtful pause and really considering the question, rather than just frivolously answering “Never!” when he asks “So when do you think you’ll get tired of me?”
I’m still thinking.
(Continuation of Romance )
“Oh thank CHRIST.”
— Me, upon discovering that the hotel we are staying at this week in the Bahamas has a Starbucks in the lobby.
(Part of the What is Love series)
Love is knowing when to say “I’m sorry.”
Roughy 10-15 minutes after he says it first.
(Part of the What is Love series)
Love means being able to cup his face in your hands, look him straight in the eye and tenderly ask him to check if that painful lump you feel on your back is a pimple or a spider bite.
Love is when you can comfortably express to him, in precise and vivid detail, exactly what this stomach bug is doing to your digestive tract.
The heart wants what it wants.**
**side of waffle fries not pictured.
This is almost exactly how it happened with me and Eric.
Except instead of him sketching our romantic moments on the wrapper of the gum, he asked me to spit it out, told me I’m disgusting, and compared me to a cow.
Otherwise the same, though.
Nothing was more rewarding, adorable, awkward, or terrifying than 28 fourth graders working together to write this poem about love. For the record, a boy chose the topic “love” and a boy chose the metaphor “butterflies.”
So what happens to the male brain between ages 10 and the age they create their first dating profile that completely erases these sentiments?
I’m just saying.
Notice no one chose the metaphor ” balloon knot.”
Every once in a while, I am blown away by the sight of an older couple so obviously and tenderly in love after so many years. Like right now. I’m sitting on the subway and there is an older couple across from me. They are easily in their 80s, possibly even late 80s. They have obviously been married for a very long time– they just give off that knowing, comfortable, you-are-my-soulmate-and-you-complete-me aura. They are holding hands, and his other hand in placed gently on her leg, helping her hold her purse. They are smiling at each other, literally gazing into each other’s eyes as if they are the only two human beings in the world. And as I sit here and watch them, I can’t help but think
Get a fucking room.
Sometimes a girl’s gotta make herself feel like someone sent her flowers on Valentines Day.
Yes, they’re chocolate. Yes, they’re from the dollar store. Yes, they came in a plastic box that I cut myself trying to open. Yes, they’re from a 9 year old. Yes, that is a drinking glass. Yes, it’s a dirty drinking glass. Yes, I JUST finished drinking out of it.
STOP JUDGING ME!
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