Day 14

Once when I was young I wandered into the kitchen, where my mom was cooking. “Are you hungry?” she asked, offering me a snack. I remember staring at her for a moment, confused. Was I hungry? I pushed on my stomach; it did not hurt. It was not grumbling, either.

“How do I know?” I asked.

“How do I know?” I asked my father, nearly twenty years later.

Do you love him? my father had asked, referring to my boyfriend. I cocked my head to the side, then, too. It did not hurt. My stomach was not fluttering. I did not feel faint. Was this love? How would I know?

I held onto that question long after the boy and I broke up. How would I know? How would I know love if I found it? You just know, my mom liked to say; she is not as complicated as I am. My father doesn’t say things like that. He understands being complicated, but he is like my mom, in that “just knows” things.

Now, years later, when I think back on all that and think about what love is and means, I think this: Love is, to me, the thing that stays. It is many other things, too–passion, warmth, comfort, safety, and deep deep joy. It is small moments and big adventures; long coats and hot drinks. It’s furry faces, soft words, and open doors. A hand on a hand, a hand on a heart. It’s a detective, determined to find us when we are lost in the darkest corner. A team to cheer us on in this race, this long race that sometimes seems unwinnable. A plate of favorite food, warm and ready. A salute, a cheer, a wordless embrace. It a thing we give and take and give again. But when everything is spinning around and away, there is love. Love is the thing that stays. And that’s how I (finally) knew.

Love,
February ❤️

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