Iโve been organizing my google docs lately and came across a short story I wrote in middle school that I thought Iโd share here. This was written before I fully understood who I was and my relation to love. I now understand that I fall somewhere on the asexual spectrum and am thinking of making some edits to encompass so much more meaning behind the simple word:
What Does It Mean to Truly Love Another?
I scroll through my phone as I savour the previous few seconds of peace in my day before barreling head first into the chaos that awaits. The latest news story was that of a young woman, beaten to death by her controlling boyfriend when he found out she had made plans to move away.
As I reluctantly shove away my phone and stagger from my bed towards the washroom, I canโt help but wonder myself what it means to love another. Or what it means to feel love at all. Even just the principle of word โloveโ. Was that love? Perhaps love was a ferocious beast that prowled your mind, taking over all thought and rationality, leaving only the primal need to control.
Or perhaps it was the reason she stayed for as long as she did, the reason she never fled. Perhaps love was the whispered secrets and promises of eternal life, an irrational emotion that promised us theyโd stay forever, weโd never be alone. It made her go back time and time again, waiting for her temporary dose of it.
I pat my cat as I head out, guiltily closing the door on his insistent purrs for affection. Love was something simple, the feeling that arose when you enjoyed staying in oneโs presence, the feeling of comfort when the rest of the world seemed so jagged. But if that was love, was it also the feeling that came afterwards, that feeling of regret at leaving behind someone you know relies on you?
I plug my earphones in and block out the rest of the world as the breeze tugs at wisps of my hair. I zip my sweater to block the chillโs intrusion and stroll down the path. Notes fly from earphones and descend down deep, following the path straight to my heart where they set up camp and resonate the music within me. Was love always the feeling created by another person? Maybe love wasnโt as complicated as that, maybe it was the way the darkest parts of you lit up at the melody that burrowed deep in your soul, the way nothing other than this music could understand the most complicated workings of me.
I step off the dirt path and onto the solid concrete that echoes my steps. I lift my eyes from the cracked stone and take in the sights around me: the blinking lights that had been set up to celebrate the holidays; the buses hurrying down the streets, rushing to make the step stop; the low hum of chatter, the smell of hot dogs hanging in the air. Was love the moments you stopped to appreciate the world around you, the moments you realized the miraculous miracle of being and the fact that you got to be here against all odds?
Perhaps it was the way a parent always involuntarily gravitated towards their child, the way siblings fought about simple nothings and then made up within minutes. I observe a family walking down the street, the mother tugging brutally at the arm of her bawling kid as the father stares at his phone, either ignorant or desensitized to the action.
Was love a gift? Or was it a curse that controlled the way a person acted. Was it an emotion at all or was it a reason, an obligation? Something that bad to be dealt with because it was necessary but nothing to really dwell too long on. Was love that what slowly blackened a heart until all that remained was hate?
I carry on, dropping my gaze as the family passes. I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms as I swallow down the bitter words bubbling to the surface. Stories had love all wrong. Love wasnโt something that unknowingly happened; love wasnโt something a person just happened to stumble upon. Love was an entity that marched up to you some day and permanently attached you to it. Suddenly, nothing you do is for yourself anymore but for the name of Love. Love wore you down until you were nothing but bones and filled with nothing but a numb, chilling cold that could never leave your system.
I swing open the door to a cafe and inhale the comforting tang of coffee. I make my way to the counter and wait patiently for someone to come around the corner. Suddenly, a barista with shaggy brown hair enters and flashes me a dazzling smile, exposing their rows of pearly teeth. They swipe a hand through their hair to lift it from their eyes and places a green cap over their head.
My heart thunders from my chest, stealing all breath from my lungs. The barista continues smiling as they say, โHello, my name is Jule, how might I make your day shine?โ
What does it mean to truly love another? A question Iโd never given much thought to before today upon spotting it in the article. Love was persistent, Love would hunt you down to the ends of the earth until it had you in its grasp. Love snuck up on you and made sure to never release you once it had concluded its hunt. Love was pain, Love was spending every waking hour obsessing over the what was and what ifs.
But, Love could be good. Love could be kind. Love could gently take your hand and guide you towards a new unknown factor. Love could introduce you to a world of possibilities you would have never before imagined. Love was breathless kisses and pounding hearts. Love was the promise that tomorrow would bring better things, for now and for always. Love was something people despised, something people didnโt want controlling their lives until it found them. Love was something people cling to with all their might, assuring themselves that it would never slip away.
โA latte, please. Two milks no sugar.โ
Jule winks at me as they turn on their heels, heading towards the machines. โA latte for the beauty.โ
Love could be slow, Love could be hesitant. Love could wait until one was ready. Love was understanding, and Love was sweet, allowing space for us to work it out for ourselves.
