Love is…

Oh to muse upon love. What is love? How do we know we are in love? What if it’s just lust? What’s the difference?


That’s the difference.

Being in a relationship is a lot of work. Being in one for over two years has taught me that much.

Love is picking up his dirty socks and not saying anything.

Love is listening to him chewing so loud it’s like there is an amp inside his mouth projecting the sound directly into your ear and gritting your teeth.

Love is cooking, and cleaning over and over and not really expecting help. (It’s a nice surprise when he does though.)

Love is cleaning up those little whisker nibblets in the sink every two days.

However, love is also the inside jokes you share and laugh at in public. It’s the way he holds your hand in the car when he’s driving. It’s the way you kiss. The way you can sit in silence comfortably. Love is the little things.

You have to be able to laugh at one another in order to keep the whole operation going. If you can’t laugh when one of you walks face first into the sliding glass door or drops a can of beans on your bare foot or when for the first time on of you farts in front of the other, you my dear couple are doomed for breakupland.

I am the type of person who loves to be in love. I love the feeling of it in the pit of my tummy and in the strings of the organ that sits in my chest. I’ll admit that I have been more in love with the idea of love than I was with the person I was supposed to be loving before. That didn’t work out so well. As I said before, it was destined for breakupland.

Breakupland is a place I don’t think anyone relishes being in. I read on Yahoo! the other day that when you are suffering from a “broken heart” you feel actual physical pain. It is no longer an imaginary feeling. Broken hearts are real folks. I remember my last breakup. I didn’t sleep very much. In fact I slept on the couch watching Step Up 2 on repeat. I ate a couple of carrots for lunch and that was pretty much it. I cried the whole time at work and I’m sure my customers wondered who the hell the crazy crying lady was. (Sam’s club apron + hair net + crying face = One Scary Cafe Lady). It hurts. But as with most things, it faded. I realized what a prick he was (broke up through text messaging) and how needy I was (never giving him room to breathe). Then, I picked myself up and grew up. And what do I know, I found someone better.

And now love is amazing. I realized that what I have now is the real deal. Not sure how the hell I know that, but it just feels….right. But then again, I am willing to work my ass off to keep it that way.

And I have a great ass if I do say so myself 😉


About delightfulness

One sweet, quirky, delightful individual I am.
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One Response to Love is…

  1. sparklebumps says:

    You have a whole organ in your chest? Where do you put it? 😉

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