Love v2.1
I saw this email about what love is…
~*love~* is* when* you* can’t* sleep* because* you* can’t* stop* thinking* about* them* love* is* when* u* cant* talk* cuz* ur* afraid* ur* gonna* say* something* stupid* love* is* when* u* barely* move* cuz* ur* scared* u* will* do* something* dumb* love* is* when* u* stare* at* the* phone* for* hours* hoping* that* they’ll* call* love* is* when* the* only* thing* that* makes* u* feel* better* is* there* smile* love* is* when* people* can* say* anything* to* u* or* about* u* and* u* just* dont* care* love* is* when* u* get* online* and* u* sit* there* for* hours* and* wait* for* their* annoying* sound* so* u* can*finally* talk* to* them* love* is* when* u* find* someone* that* u* can* tell* everything* and* ur* sure* they* wont* make* fun* of* u* love* is* when* u* can* just* wake* up* have* makeup* running* down* ur* face* from* crying* and* they’ll* still* say* ur* beautiful* love* is* when* they* would* do* anything* to* see* u* smile* love* is* when* there* dying* and* the* last* thing* they* want* is* to* hear* ur* voice* one* last* time* love* is* when* every* song* reminds* u* of* them* love* is* something* you* just*can’t* explain…it’s just love
…and I have to put my two cents in before I give in to the urge to vomit. Now, I’m not claiming to be an authority on the subject, but it seems to me the real thing ought to be just a little more…um, realistic. Heres my fantasy of what love is:
Love is biting your tongue instead of saying, “I told you so”
Love is eating burnt chicken with a smile. It’s true love if you don’t feed any of it to the dog when she’s not looking.
Love is giving your full attention to a 45 minute rundown of last night’s game, including a complete reenactment of his gravity-defying winning goal/touchdown/home run.
Love is sometimes letting her win, and not just because youll probably get laid afterwards.
Love is holding her hair back when she realizes she can’t drink you under the table. True love is when you don’t take pictures to torture her with later.
Love is never telling a soul that he tears up at the end of Pay It Forward.
Love is knowing he’s on your side when his mother criticizes your cooking, even if he didn’t say anything.
Love is sticking up for her when your mom criticizes her cooking.
Love is getting up at 2 AM to change a tire when she hops a curb. True love is not bringing it up again every time she gets in the driver’s seat.
Love is sometimes just putting the toilet seat down by yourself and not making a great big fussy deal about it.
Love is when it doesn’t matter that the shirt he got you for your birthday doesn’t fit and vaguely resembles the color of baby poo; you’re just impressed he remembered and bought you a mushy card.
Love is cleaning up the dishes, picking up her dry cleaning, taking his dog for a walk and listening to how the day went, without tallying up who’s turn it is or how many times you’ve done it already. Love is buying his mother’s birthday card, changing the oil in her car, wearing the horrible perfume he bought you, and letting her cry for two hours solid when her best friend stops talking to her. Love is pretending not to notice those 10 extra pounds, the ridiculous haircut, or the high school jersey he just can’t part with.
True love is when you want to do it because you know, in the end, it’s the small stuff that really says ‘I love you.’