I wish I knew the recipe for love, but the fact of the matter is, nobody knows it.
Perhaps because it’s different for every single person and no one can say what love IS or what love ISN’T, because it’s totally abstract. It’s also something that is impossible to be truly objective about.
I thought when I was growing up, that as an adult I would have all the answers. I’ve since discovered that being an adult means you have no answers and far more questions than when you were a child.
Maybe love was even simpler as a child. I loved my dog. I loved my teddy bear and I didn’t worry about whether they did or didn’t love me; I just knew they did. I guess part of that was that I didn’t have any expectations of them.
When I reached my teenage years and fell in love for what I believed was the first time (romantic love anyway), I fell hard. I chased that poor boy because I knew in my heart that he felt the same way. I wanted him to admit it; and he finally did. I waited for six months for him to tell me what I already knew. I didn’t think I would ever wait for that long again.
I was wrong.
I was wrong because I’m still waiting.
I’m waiting for one of the slowest men in history.
A man who would make the three-toed sloth look like a cheetah.
He says he likes to take things slow, to make sure we have a good relationship before proceeding to the next step. I’m not even sure what the next step is. All I know is that it must be love, because I’m one of the most impatient people in the world and for some reason, I’m still hanging around. I’m not wasting my time like some people think.
I know he loves me.
But I also know that the two of us are scared to take that next step, because then we might get hurt, or worse, we might hurt each other.
But then again, we might not either.
One of us needs to jump and as we’re jumping, we need to pull the other with us.
Or maybe, we’ll jump together.