What is Love?

Many say love is physical, the touch of your lover as they tenderly hold your flesh in their gentle hands. Others say love is an emotion, in fact, a multitude of them at once, and they are usually good.

To me, love is curiosity. It is too easy to love the flesh. I think there is a false comfort in assuming that, just because your lover can hold you fondly in their arms, they must love you. Your lover can cradle your face, kiss you, and touch your body as though it were a precious gem, and still not ever be curious about who you are. As humans, we so often confuse tenderness with love because, well, it looks so. much. like. it. After all, we are physical creatures, too, and we release many chemicals and hormones in response to touch alone.

But one day, your body will wither, sag, and lose its fullness. When you are elderly and infirm, unable to paint your nails or walk without assistance, will your lover still be there to ask how your day went? Will their interest in you endure?

Ask yourself: does your lover know about your passion for reading, writing, painting, photography, cooking, etc.? Do they notice your collection of silly little trinkets that drain your wallet yet give you a moment’s joy? What about your worldview and politics? How about the way you articulate yourself, the way you speak about education, literature, art, the sciences, and the leaders you admire so passionately that you hope to emulate? Do they love the things you love about yourself?

So much of you has nothing to do with your body or your face. So why does your lover's curiosity begin and end there?

All of this is to say that, looking back, I do not think I have been loved by a lover. Wanted, yes. Desired, held, kissed, missed — f*ck, my absence may have hurt them, too. But I cannot say they have looked beyond my flesh (or what I can do for them) to love me.

No matter. At least, I love myself.