so, here’s how you know you’re in love

When I was a girl, I used to dream about forever. I would dream and fantasize about love being the conduit for my access to forever. Being in love meant finally having longevity within my grasp, at the tip of my fingertips. And why wouldn’t I think that? Anytime I heard about love, it was attached to forever, as if love was the only thing that would survive the inevitable. And me, impressionable and fearful of endings, I latched on for the ride. For me, it meant surviving — love was my key to surviving. It was stable ground, an escape from the world I’d been riddled with. Eventually, my heart learned differently, that love was not about trying to contain forever. Love, for me, became the antithesis of believing in forever.

It took me a while to stop looking at being in love as something to possess or hold, or have. For years, I was under the impression that if I love something, someone, it must belong to me for as long as I decide. This thinking stripped me of the experience of being in love, how joyous it can be once you’re just in it and not attempting to bend it to your will. Being in love then became about the experience, and not what or who I could have.

When I thought about both of these things, being in love became about neither forever or possession. Once I realized that neither of these aspects mattered in love, my vision of it because less shrouded. Suddenly it was clear.

I know I’m in love when I choose to embrace this person, thing, moment, despite knowing that the inevitable is looming around the corner — despite the knowing that this person, thing, moment could eventually leave me, with its memories and scent left to linger. I know I’m in love when my imagination is inclusive of them. When they appear in my dreams of liberation. When their freedom is worth as much as my own and when I’m willing to do what I must to ensure that we both feel a bit closer to it by the end of our relationship, either by nature or by choice.

I know I’m in love when laughter is how we share joy, most of our joy. When my belly knows this moment is better with them and the laughter fills my insides until it’s pain. I know I’m in love when pain from laughing is the most pain they bring me.

I know I’m in love when our conflicts feel less like conflicts and more like moments of discovery. Sorting through the changes together, keeping what works and clipping what doesn’t and feeling no obligation to stay if it no longer fits. Being in love feels simple on its’ best days, as easy as breathing. And on the worst days, it just feels like learning, which is still beneficial for everyone involved. I know I’m in love when I’m on my last leg, needing to pray, and think to pray for them too. I know I’m in love when the thought of staying remains past the butterflies. When their existence is an art and a gift to witness.

I don’t believe in just knowing. I believe in thorough investigation but when I know, I know. There’s no confusion masked as infatuation. In fact, there’s nothing to be confused about. It just is, in the present, and being in love means choosing to acknowledge that truth.

When you think of being in love, what do you think of? What defines that for you? Who’s there in your dreams, imagination, in your liberation?

x,

Simi