To love another person is what people explain as unexplainable and yet I can unclearly explain how I feel about him. Is love an understatement? A phrase? A word? A statement made in order to fill a void? Like where there are no words there are words but those words are not explainable and therefore we are unable to enable an individual to explain what they feel? And who in their right mind would think to complicate a feeling that has not only one definition but many and only many because a single person can not feel that feeling the same way as a different person feels it? And who are we to question why and what and how a person loves? For we know not in what way they love or how they love, we don’t even have the slightest clue what makes another person love.
And people search hilariously for the meaning of love. Not because they are curious to know, but to fill in the missing knowledge with another person’s understanding of love – ignoring the fact that what’s missing is in them.
I love him in a different way to how he loves me. He has become a part of me. Cliché would be to say “he completes me“: which he does because I haven’t felt a missing link since I met him? Since he met me? Since we met? Is the difference not the same? The point of the matter is, for me to be whole I need him and I need him to need me because without me as a need I become a want. A want? Not as vital as a need. That’s what I want – to be vital. Am I vital? I would say yes! To please myself? – No! To reassure myself that his words are filled and not empty. They have meanings behind them only I can understand. These words are designed by his feelings, understood by his mind, felt in his heart, mastered by his soul, uttered by his mouth and ending with a solution. The answer to the equation? ME. He utters the words to me. The meaning behind them different to when he will utter them to a different woman other than me – our daughter?
Because when he said them before they meant something different to the recipient and when he says them again to a different being they will mean another thing. In the same way they mean something different to me. They revive me and like the sound of good music to my ears they give me goosebumps. I enjoy them, they excite me – his words speak to me loud even when not said.
Is that love? It is MY LOVE. Any other definition doesn’t add up to this love – this is my special love. I love. He loves. We both love. In a different manner – YES! But our love meets and understands each other.
Pennegriffy ✍🏾
pennegriffy ✍🏾️ 