Let me count the ways.

I’ve never been good at love. I fall in love easily, but that’s not really love. Love is about intimacy with another person, about trust, about sharing that deep-rooted bond that can get you through almost anything. I guess what makes me so bad at love is that I don’t trust. I don’t really trust anyone, ever. It takes a lot of time and a lot of work for me to feel safe enough with someone to really give part of myself to them.

However, there have been the occasional people passing through my life that I trusted, that I forged those bonds with. Those are the people I think of when I think of love. Those who come to mind are my best friend for ten years, who I no longer speak to and don’t really know what to do without; and my current best friend, who it took almost losing for me to realize how much I actually love him. Those people I never questioned trusting. I never questioned loving. I don’t think I ever made the conscious decision to love either one of them. I just woke up one day and they were settled so deep within my heart, within me, really, that I can’t imagine that they won’t always be there. I know that people go their own way, that they die, that they move on and that relationships don’t always last the way that you think they will. I might know that better than anyone. However, I don’t think that there will ever be a time when I won’t smile when I think of these people, that they won’t be able to soften my anger or comfort me when I cry.

In the act of loving someone what you’re really doing is giving them pieces of you, tiny little chunks of information and of emotion that they can do what they will with. Hopefully you’ll give them to someone that cares about you in return, that will file them away and then give you theirs in return. You’ll never get those pieces back. There’s no ‘rewind’ in love, no ‘erase’ in life. This isn’t a rehearsal—this is the real thing. You have to make smart decisions and protect yourself from losing too much. You have to be careful not to love too much.

But then, is it possible to love too much? How much, really, is too much?

There’s no such thing as too much. You can love with everything you have, with mind, body, heart, and soul, and it still isn’t too much. The greatest gift you can ever give someone is to love them that much—so much that they’re the first thing you think of every morning, the last at night, they’re the one who you cry tears for (but not over) and the one that you want to take away from all the anxieties, the pain, the frustration of life. And the greatest thing you can ever get back from them is their unequivocal love in return.

It’s a complicated thing. There’s a lot of ins and out of love, a lot of useless agonizing and tears and frustration. There’s a lot of laughter, smiles, happy memories—and bad. There’s too much, really, for it to be such a small, common word.

“Those three words, they’re said too much. They’re not enough.”

I find that when in love, and knowing that I am loved, I’m a better person. I smile at nothing, and I’m tolerant of everyone, of everything. I can even sit in traffic on Clairemont for hours and not care. I’m just happier. Everything is just better.

What is it that I’m trying to say?

I love the idea of love. I love sappy romantic movies and cheesy songs. Could there ever be anything greater than the feeling you get when thinking of the person you’re in love with—that sudden, uplifting rush that seems to go straight from your heart to your head and then all over your entire body? The way you can’t help but smile when you think of their sweet smile, the way that they hold your hand?

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I guess my what comes to mind first when I think of love is my relationship with one of my best--actually, my very best friend. I never expected to be friends with this person. Not in like, an I would never be friends with him type of way, but more in that we were two different people in two completely different places in our lives when we met for the first time...and the second... and the third. I can't say that I ever thought we would really be friends. And, like I expected, we both drifted apart almost immediately after meeting. Somehow, though, years later, we met again, and we made it work.
My best friend is an amazing person. He’s the kindest person I’ve ever met. He genuinely wants the best for everyone, and he brings out the best in most people, even if they’re not aware he’s doing it. He’s got an honest heart, and he gives so much to the people he cares about. He might even give too much. He always knows the right thing to say about anything. I couldn’t even begin to match the insight he gives me, because that’s what they always are. Insights. They’re truths. He shows me exactly—in ways that I can actually get—the kind of person I am. And he accepts me, flaws and all. He forgives my mistakes. He is the best part of me, my favorite thing in the whole world. Without him, I wouldn’t be anything. I wouldn’t want to be.
We might not always be “best friends.” We might not always be the way we are. I mean, things could be different tomorrow between us. But I just cant imagine doing anything, going anywhere, making anything out of myself without him beside me, because if I were to lose him, it would feel like something was ripped out of me. Something vital to my life. My heart, maybe. Because that’s what he is—he’s absolutely vital to my existence.

And I would never have it any other way.