I want to recognize the woman in my life, desperately in love. She can’t shout it from the rooftops. For her, it is whispered to her lover, delicately in shell of the ear. So this is me, shouting for her. Perhaps one day when the stars align, she will use her own voice.
I need to shout out to love. Those that love big, painting it in bold letters across the windows of their souls. Those that whisper in the dark, with knots in the belly. The ones that love without reserve, unafraid and welcoming. The broken ones, stumbling across the broken glass of their hearts, picking the shards out of the bloody feet. The ones who can only love with their bodies, with their hearts beating in a cage. Shout out to those who love with only their hearts while the fingertips long to touch flesh. Shout out to the ones who hold love deep inside, like a block of ice not knowing how to allow it to flow. Shout out to those that swim in love, not knowing how to stay afloat.
Old love. New love. Lovers. Philia. Eros. Ludus. Agape. Pragma. Philautia. Storge. Mania.
Wrinkled skin that reaches out to you and soothes. Sweaty skin that slides against you. I think of H often and I am so grateful we still love each other. Shout out to the bag of groceries left at your doorstep, full of love. The phone calls in the middle of the night.
Shout out to Him. He’s mine.
Text messages that pour out love across the keyboard. Text messages never sent. The mushy stuff. The love that never dies and the love that hurts. Sisters who hold each other. Tired mothers who fall asleep, holding your hand. Cousins, who are your first best friends. Brothers who teach you how to drive. Lifelong friends. Strangers on the street who smile at you.
I want to shout out to the messy love. The kind of love that destroys you from the inside out. The love that rebuilds. Best friends.The love that makes you feel young and vibrant. The love that makes you feel old and comfortable.
I want to scream at Boo that he left so much love here. Instead I tell his children over and over.
He asked me the other day if I was just going to continue holding his arm. I realised that instead of holding his hand, I held his entire arm against me and I was licking him. He was driving comfortably with the other hand, chuckling at me.
“Do you mind? Is this okay? Is it weird? Am I weird? Do you want me to stop?”
He doesn’t want me to stop.
So I’ve been thinking of all the different ways you can love and be in love.
Mostly I think one day she will shout her love across the universe instead of secretly in the shell of the ear.