For the longest time I never wanted to say 'I love you' to people because I didn't really know what love felt like.
I thought it was the fear of losing them, of needing them to know how important they are to me, so I knew I loved my mum because I used to cry when she went to work at night, and hugged my pillow imagining it was her.
I thought it was wanting to be noticed and wanting affection, so I knew I loved my dad when I used to sit in his study in the middle of the working day just so he would glance at me and smile.
I thought it was wanting to be like them, so I knew I loved my sister when I copied her speech and stole her clothes for dress-up, when I chose her favourite school subjects, straightened my hair, applied to her company, and stole her old desk chair.
I though it was not having to explain yourself to them, so I knew I loved my brother when he bought me my favourite book, laughed at my bad joke, read my awful poetry.
I thought it was when you want to spend money on them, so I thought maybe I loved my friends when I spent my pocket money on birthday presents.
I thought about love for a long time. I noticed. I watched. I never declared. It was too big. Can you love your friend after eating lunch together for 2 years? Can you love someone when they never say they love you?
Now I watch my dad buy my mum the newspaper everyday, and my mum iron his shirt without being asked. I see the way my parents' light up when my brother rings home twice a week, when my sister video calls and we get to hear the baby giggling.
Love is noticing. Love is attention. Love is silent action.
When I spent a week sewing Christmas stockings, I wanted my sister to call me and tell me she liked them, maybe send me a photo. I wanted to be noticed, to be missed, to be included, to be understood.
She sent a nice card and a bar of chocolate. I got tagged in the instagram photo.
Love is noticing. Love is attention. Love is understanding. Love is action.
My Grampa is 94 years old and cared for by my uncle who is tired and bored of it but loves him nonetheless. I know because he eats the peas off his plate and brings him a pie on Saturdays. He lists the doctor's appointments and built a set of shelves for his pills. He rolls his eyes at the same jokes and yawns at the same old stories.
We choose how to show love in the same way we choose how to feel it. Close up, nose pressed into scratchy jumpers, arms clenched tight around soft flesh. Long phone calls while making dinner. 10 minute chats before bed-time. Care-packages just because.
Love is action. Love is a choice. Love is noticing. Love is attention. Love is understanding. Love is patientkinddoesnotenvynorboastdoesnotangernotresentfulbearsallthingsenduresallthings.
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