Writers love words. We sit with them, we turn them over in our minds, agonizing over just the right one. Ten minutes spent trying to decide whether the shade of brown is muddy or chocolate. We pull these words apart, analyze them, think about their connotation and what they really mean.
Is this saying what I really mean?
But there are some words we pick at too much. Words that are better left alone to sit and breathe and just BE.
Words like love.
We fucking tear the shit out of that one.
And I don't just mean writers. I mean everyone.
We analyze it: is this love? Is that? How do I even know? Maybe I don't know.
We quantify it: I love you like a friend. I love you so much. You're the Love Of My Life.
We compare it: I love you more today than when we first met. I love him more than I've ever loved anyone else. I choose love for this person over love for that one.
We qualify it: I love you because of this. And that. And also that over there.
We try to stuff it into a box, add a bunch of labels, and maybe stick a cake topper on it. We try to pin it down and understand and be sure.
But it's at it's best when we leave it the hell alone.
When we dive into it, get swept up by it, let it wash over us and carry us away. When we let go and surrender to it. That's where the happiness lies; in the place where you take away all of the logic and all of the reasoning and all of the explanations.
And you just let it be.