That One Day When…Love

Love is a funny thing. It’s confusing and hateful, exhilarating and silent. I have found that it can be experienced for the first time on many occasions. I used to say that I thought I was in love, but now I know that I really did love before. When I married the first time at 20 years old, I loved him. We built a life, we raised children and from the outside, it looked perfect. There was much heartache, but, there was love.
When I tried my hand at marriage the second (and last) time, it was a different love. It was deeper than the first time. I felt like I had found the person with whom I would share the rest of my life. There was more heartache, but, there was love. After the failure of my second marriage, I stopped believing in love. Love didn’t love me, therefore, it ceased to exist.
When I met my guy, I had healed and was happy in my singlehood and ready to take on the world and all it had to offer. In the nearly 18 months since the beginning of our relationship, I have found that maybe I do believe in love. I do not call it love, though. I am afraid to call it love, because love does not love me. I have feelings for this man that transcend words. I feel safe, cared for and content. Beyond anything I have ever felt before. We don’t say “I love you”, but the sentiment is there and felt very deeply. It is felt anytime we share space. It is felt in our conversation. It is felt in the look he gives me that takes my breath away.
We have an unconventional relationship that works for us. We do not live together, but spend every weekend (that is not devoted to our children) together. We talk on the phone every day and stay in contact through text or funny instant messages. The days that we spend apart make for an amazing time when we are together, even if we do nothing but veg out in front of the television. We have the best of both worlds. No, I do not call it love, because love does not love me, but I do whisper it in my heart. It is silent, but exhilarating.


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