When I was in high school about 12 or 13 years old we were asked to write a poem in English class. The title of the poem was Love is… I wrote it as an anaphora poem where each line began with the same words from the title; love is…
It was quite an exceptional poem and I wish I’d have kept it but my teacher put it on the wall, made me stand in front of the class and read it. It has stayed in my mind always, mainly because what is love? Is one of the questions we probably ask ourselves the most and everytime that question popped into my mind I thought of that poem.
What I can say now that I am actually in love is that the things I wrote in that poem were right. Love is made up of a selection of little things. The small things that make up everyday life, a phone call, a shared laugh, a smile or a light kiss. A display of affection physically or emotionally. Love for me is best described as simply my boyfriend.
I have spent the last 7 years alone. There have been people I have ‘seen’ for a while some of whom I thought I was in love with. I realise now just how wrong I was. Love is not just made up of fireworks and lust (although of course they factor into it) love is made up of that text first thing in a morning and last thing at night, it’s made up of the way he knows which way I like to hold hands and notices which colour I’ve painted my nails on that particular day. It’s the way he looks at me like I’m the only girl that ever walked the planet and doesn’t make me feel like I’m temporary. With anyone else I’ve always known that my time is short lived that I will soon be tossed aside and forgotten about left to pick up the pieces on my own. With him it’s different he has picked up every broken piece of me and put me back together again. For the first time in my life I’m with someone who makes me feel whole.