Lets look back at the year. Lets turn our heads, open our eyes and see what we were. Who we were. What lessons we've learned. How we've grown.
People learn lessons everyday. Some lessons are for a guitar, as teenagers and middle aged men want to learn to play. Some lessons are harder learned. Lessons as "simple" as behavioral sciences of the schizophrenic mind, or as complex as trust. Those who learn these lessons have a pulse; they breath, walk, talk, eat, sleep. They are just like you and I. But what keeps those miraculous little muscles dancing?
The heart is a miraculous muscle. It not only pumps our blood for our own health, but it functions as an alarm as well. The heart alerts us when something is frightening. When things are glorious, exciting and scary. It tells us when we're in a place we shouldn't be. A single chest begins to pound when walking down a dark alley way, or in a house full of drugs. The heart also tells us when we know we're in the place we should be, whether it be among friends, or in the arms of a loved one. Have you ever felt that feeling of flight? That feeling of escape. The feeling one feels when words are whispered. Three simple words can take your breath away, but not because the lungs can no longer release the contractions they create, but rather because the blood is suddenly rushing from one end of your body, to the next. It has to pass through your chest; through your heart. Millions of cells are at work for three simple words. The same millions of cells are at work for the words that are never said. They work for those who never get to hear the words. For those who long to hear them. I love you.
We're all looking for one thing; that is something we've all got in common. Many artist write songs about the phenomenon, many groups of teenagers and young adults sing drunken songs about the concept. A brush is touched to a surface with the idea in mind. A dancer warms his body in preparation to glide across a stage. A father prepares a favorite meal, a mother leaves early from work, a dog wags his tail; all in the name of love.
But what is this thing we call love? Is it something you can buy? Is it something you make, borrow or steal? Does love expire? Even now my cursor blinks in search of a definition of the word. What is love?
Many people wake up everyday in hopes of finding the answer to that question. They clean the house, go grocery shopping, take the kids to school, rake the leaves, attend class, mail bills and letters, and ignore or embrace thousands of thoughts while doing it. Is it not always on one's mind? Subconscious, dormant, hidden from immediate thought. Love is what we're always thinking of. When will I meet him? When should I ask her. Will he say yes? What if she says no? Where should we go to dinner? I love her. I love him. I love you. I love you too. these are the subtext thoughts to all things said, thought, written, read and heard. But our question remains, What is love?
Is love not being able to keep someone out of one's mind? Having them always on the train that we call our thoughts? Riding through one's everyday, comfortably, with a pillow and a tasty drink? Is the absence of love, therefore, not having that person on one's mind? I don't think it is that simple. I feel as though love begins before that moment.
Every time one opens his or her mouth to say the words, "I love you," he or she is not only expressing the love for the person meant to hear it, but to him or herself. That sentence begins with the word, "I."
Love begins with oneself. The ability to love oneself is power. It is, as I believe, the greatest power there is. And this is because I believe love is what powers the world. One may hear the words, "Above all, I believe in love." Or, "All you need is love." Every one assumes that these words mean that we should all find someone to love, but what we're missing is that the one we should love the most, is ourselves. I'm sure that there is a biblical scripture denoting the same concept, but I'm not about to find it.
How can we share love, when we ourselves don't hold it. How can one have a best friend, when one doesn't get along with him or herself. I am my own best friend. I have the most fun with me. I'm always there in the times of need; my shoulder is the closest for my crying eyes to fall on. I'm present at those moments that we think of when we hurt, when we want to laugh, or when we're being attacked by Dementors.
I am excited to share what I have with someone else. Because if they can feel a fraction of what I'm capable of feeling for myself, that person will know that my love is honest. They will know that my love is true.
As strong as I am, and as ready to love as I think I am, I'll wait. I'll wait to go after you. I'm not ready. But I will be one day, and when that day comes, you can bet that I'll be at your doorstep.
Marvelous will happen again.
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