We often talk about love as if it’s something we can’t understand. Something sacred or void that cannot be touched or seen. We talk or scream in whispers, but usually when we feel distant. When we feel it slipping away.
Love is the most natural thing in the world. It is abundant; The only truly renewable resource. It’s woven into our muscle fibers, it sputters through the ridges of our brains and settles on our skin like perfume. It comes so easily, which is why its absence feels like a death; Why do we, like frightened horses, see the end galloping down the track.
You are dying; I see it in you. I can see you wilting, and I love every wrinkle on your face. I can hear your rapid breathing, your wheezing as you speak, and I know I will live a long life without you. Every wobble is precious. Weakness is not a sin, not in itself, nor an experience. It’s nothing against you, and it’s not a flaw. However, it is a loss.Losing you. The you that looks and sounds like you.
I love you when you’re cute. You were dressed in green, you had dirt under your nails, you had tulip bulbs in your pockets, you smelled of grass, and your hair was windswept. I loved you when your thin hands were quick and dexterous. Your eyes were bright and your teeth were strong. I love you when you hold my hand, wash my face, brush my hair. Your long nails scratched my scalp, and you got cake batter on your arm.
You slip away until she’s gone, but I love you. The new you. I love your unloveliness because it’s natural to me… And selfish. I love your piercing eyes, though they sink, because they are alive. I love your delicate hands and crooked spine for their firmness and truth. I like to hold your hand, gently hug you; I love you because you’re not cute at all. Bent and wrinkled, but still as sharp as a knife, eyes shining. I like to endure the pain of this change because it is mine. And yours. I will count them day after day, like a miser counting coins, because life is long. One day, I have to love the space you leave behind, I can no longer sit at your feet, coax you to eat more of the cake I brought, the fudge I bought, the porridge you love to drink.Because it was natural for me to do so, and I had no choice.
I’ll love you if you smell sick when you’re getting smaller and smaller. I will love you ragged and afraid, though I hope you never fear, and I will light a light for you. In all my days, there will be a candle in my house, tulips in my garden, and dirt under my fingernails for you. Even if injured; Especially then, because that’s when it matters the most.
We treat love as if it were inhuman, or more noble than human beings, and when it RIPS and tears, we shun it as if it had no right to teeth and claws. But that’s not the case; It’s natural. Nature can be cruel. Everything on earth has the right to be unlovable and dangerous… Even you. Even love.
So I have a promise for you; I love those unlovable scars when you leave, like hieroglyphics, and they increase when I too become completely unlovable. Hopefully (another natural and cruel thing), when I too become weak or ill, someone will love me as naturally and cruelly as I love you.