Love

I'm in love. That's an unusual thing for me. I'm not very experienced with love. I've had plenty of crushes, but those are so simple, it's ludicrous. And this is honestly the first time I've been in love as a mature adult. Even at nineteen, I was immature with how I saw the world and pretty stupid, to be blunt.

So, I'm kind of freaking out.

But I'm freaking out for a weird reason. See, to me, love has always been a thing from movies. That's where I learned about love, and what I learned was that being in love meant doing outrageous things together, having beautiful talks while walking through snowy streets, and making bold declarations of love to a girl in a upper-story window from a sidewalk or lawn. But that's not life, not at all, and while I realize that, this deep-seated idea of love as a movie cliche lingers in my head, like a hypnotist's command.

Right now, I'm happy. Yet I'm not full of energy or bursting with affection. I was, definitely, but now, I feel content. More than content, but I'm not very good at describing my feelings, of course, so that word will have to do. So I'm kind of freaking out, because my learning is telling me that I'm supposed to still be hyper and overcome with chemicals, but I simply am not. But I am happy, and I am in love.

I think about her constantly, and it's like what I think is different every hour. Sometimes I think about the passion between us and want nothing more than to tear off her clothes and have at her. Other times I think about how she gets me and understands me, how she seems to know what I'm thinking at times, and that makes me feel so wonderful, I can't come close to being able to express it in words. Other times, I think about how great it would be to just lay beside her in bed, to sleep beside her or close our eyes and relax with our arms around one another. I think about the ways she can help me, and the ways I can help her. I think about protecting her from any harm, physical or mental or emotional. I think about her protecting me, rubbing my head when I'm angry and telling me to calm down or letting me rest my head on her chest when I'm depressed. I think about watching movies with her, watching TV with her. I think about planning for the future with her, mundane things like saving up money and what sort of necessities need to be bought and when. I think about holding her hand just as often as I think about having sex with her. And because there are few places my mind does not wander, I sometimes (rarely, thankfully) think about her dying, and how I'd want to give up on life but wouldn't because she has two daughters I could help, if they ever needed me. And I think about myself dying, and that's even scarier, because I don't know what that would do to her, and I never want to put her through that.

It's scary, just how much I care about her, and how I can't poke any holes in it. I always poke holes, that's been my job for most of my life, to point out the problems and mistakes, whether so they can be fixed or to convince myself that the whole thing isn't worth the effort or to prepare myself for a possible failure, but I can't do that here. I know we'll have rough times, and we'll still need to work on some things as time goes on, but I can't imagine living without her. Not just because she's the only one that would ever have me, and not just because she understands me and wants to make me happy. She makes me smile, just being the person she is. I can tell her anything, not just because she will listen and accept what I have to say, but because I want to tell her, want to share my life with her.

This is being an adult, huh? It's really scary, because it's so different from being a kid. But I prefer it, definitely.