What is it like to love?

A Story by Gee Bee

Something I pondered over when a friend and I had a conversation about love.

Here's the thing: I know what it's like to be in love.

What? What kind of a statement is that? A child in the eyes of many, and yet you claim such a knowledge?

Yes. I know what's it like to be in love. And this isn't simply the romantic type, nor the platonic type.

You don't know where it started: is through pages of yellowing books with worn-out plastic covers? Is it through saucy bowls of chicken or plates of rice wrapped in crunchy seaweed? Is it through the blare of firetruck sirens and the clacking of heels on the cold pavement?

I don't know when it started. I don't know where it started. All I know is that it happened; that I was in love.

Love they say, is something like growing a plant: you have to nurture it and protect it from the elements. Let the plant wilt, and you let love die.

I can never point out when it started, but I know for sure that it's been there. Through pages and pages of loneliness and alienation, through expensive pieces of cola-shaped ice lollies, through movies of fathers and sons and what of the saying 'blood is thicker than water'.

It's been years, I figured. And when I finally found myself face-to-face with this love, I didn't feel the jitters. No butterflies in my tummy, but all the yearning and excitement of seeing this love before my very eyes. I knew it was love when just walking around to the station was contentment enough for me. I knew it was love when even the short walks to the nearby stores made me giddy. I knew it was love when I was about to leave, and my heart was clenching in pain as tears threatened to leave my eyes when the thought of leaving for a long time pained me.

I knew it was love when you feel an empty hole in yourself that takes time to heal when this love attaches itself to you. I knew it was love when, even after all the hard times, I still think of this love well.

Yes, I know what it's like to love.