When Love Arrives

When I first imagined who Love would be, his name was Preston Meyers. I was 13, and he was a fictional high school character from Can't Hardly Wait. Smart, but unpopular, but not concerned about being popular, driven, and uber romantic. He'd wear his own breed of style -- a little creative, a little skater, and a little bit preppy, but mostly a lot of "I am who I am, and I'm too smart for society to dictate any part of me". His musical tastes would be all over the board, anywhere from classic rock, to pop, to obscure indie bands that he could introduce me to.  

When Love arrived, it was a decade later.  My tastes had changed, but, Love showed up similar to my original idea of him. I didn't recognize Love had arrived, though. He asked me out a few times over a period of a few years, each time I blew off his request. 

When I finally let Love stay, I wasn't ready for Love at all. I'd fallen apart. Started therapy. Was working on myself and seeing major gains against problems I'd been battling my entire life. I didn't need Love. I had Love. I was Love.

... or so I thought. 

Love had asked again. This time I had said, "Sure, meet me at the book store on Thursday." I made very little effort to look how I used to on dates. I didn't try hard to impress Love. I was me and if Love was actually going to be Love, he was going to see the real version of me, and decide if he wanted more. 

Love showed up at the book store in a charcoal gray blazer, with a button up shirt and monkey printed skinny tie, faded jeans, and worn out leather shoes. His brown shaggy hair was messy in all the right ways, and although his blue eyes flickered like he had a secret joke, you could tell Love was nervous. 

Love cracked all the right jokes and told me just enough personal details to keep me wanting more. Love disappeared behind a book shelf and made a hilarious loud noise that caused everyone in the book store to look in our direction (because Love had pointed out that people treated the book store as a library, and we needed to change that.) 

Love was amazing. 

"Why hadn't I said yes to a date with Love before?" I asked myself months later as we were telling each other we were in love with the other. 

Love left for almost a year for military training and duty. Love and I toiled through the long distance. I flew to see Love, and we held baby alligators, and splashed in the Gulf of Mexico. 

Love came home changed. Love was jaded, angry, hurt, suffering. Love wasn't sure he wanted to be Love anymore. Love wasn't sure love existed anymore. The war, the training, the violence had tried to destroy Love as I knew him. 

I almost walked away from Love a few months later, but something told me if I stayed it would be worth it. So, I stayed with Love.

Love tried hard to be Love again. Love opened up about the pain that was dragging him down. I learned to find the cracks in Love's new shell, to love the new Love. 

I said "I do" to a life with Love on a warm September day.

Love and I flourished together in our new life. Love and I had dance parties in the kitchen, Breaking Bad marathons, future planning sessions filled with wild dreams. Love and I built a home in our dumpy apartment. 

Love was there to hold me when I had to call and tell my siblings mom had a brain tumor.  

Love made me laugh after my mom told me it was Stage 4. Love helped me pick out a kitten after my dad told me mom was going home to die and wouldn't do anymore treatments. Love was there to help me cry when I couldn't get the tears out because grief hurt too much after her death. Love did the dishes, made the bed, and vacuumed the living room. 

Love sat next to me in bed when I couldn't stop shaking from panic attacks. Love willingly left places we'd just arrived at when my anxiety kicked in and I needed to go home. Love stayed despite my never ending grief always being on the table and causing major health problems and problems in our marriage.

Love stayed despite me being the worst person to live with. 

THE WORST. 

Love wanted to leave, but felt that if he stayed things could get better. I tried so hard, and failed for months and months, and years passed. 

Love waited for me to heal. Love stayed. 

Love was Love, no matter who he'd been before or how he'd changed. Love arrived and stayed, and I will always be grateful that I said yes to Love. 

(Even if Love always takes the toilet paper from the bathroom and doesn't put it back. )

The below video is a live performance of one of my favorite poems in the world. Press play and enjoy, and see what inspired this post. 

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