Love Or Something Like That

They’d ask me how I knew it was love and I’d always say, “Don’t label it.” One can’t ever really say what love is. When we try to put things in a box, all we do is limit ourselves. When it happens, what do you feel and what does it feel like? It should be limitless and multilayered. When I look at what we have, it feels nice. It feels special. I wouldn’t want to call it things. It feels like it transcends all dimensions; it’s different and poetic. There is this magic in small moments and no, not all of those moments are all gooey and warm: there are moments when we also fight. No, we don’t fight: we sort our differences. And then we speak and argue and agree to disagree and then we decide this is stupid. Not the fighting, but even being around each other. We just shouldn’t be doing that. 
 
But then we know what we have is sublime. So, here we are again. And, in those moments, we’re just being happy, being cute, being naughty. No, don’t get me wrong; we’re never naughty together. Oh, well, maybe we are, but it’s not that kind of naughty. And, yes, those moments come back where we catch each other’s jokes across the room and we smile, we giggle and it’s okay if no one gets it, because we did. We always do. And then we’re at it again. No, not the loving: There’s no love. Or is it there? I guess one can’t define it or label it. And we shouldn’t. It’s not this. And it is not that. 
 
Because what we have is calm — as calm as a storm. The calmness you feel when you feel safe in the strongest blizzard because you know it’s the right place to be with the right person. So, yes, it’s okay to experience the emotional chaos because it makes sense. It’s strange to be at peace. It makes you see everything so differently. To be your worst self, and have it being accepted with no judgment. With each passing day, there are questions mostly from our own beings and also from other earthly lives around us that why is this even there. And, then, I smile and remember the moments — the ones where you knocked sense into me. Or the ones where I absorbed all of the noise you were carrying in your head. Yes, we have a lot of those. 
 
Because what we have is sensual. The feel of your skin on mine as you drive me around town. Or how your gaze watches the lock of hair I tuck behind my ear. How every time I bite my lip, it strangely makes me think of you. It makes no sense but it does. Or how I can feel your chest move with every breath you take. You once said to me that spooning was underrated and now even when I lay beside someone else, I only think of you, and of your perfect embrace. And, no, we’ve never shared a bed and I don’t know how it is to have you by my side, but it seems like it would be intense like it is when we talk about it. 
 
No, it’s not love or something like that. But it’s there. How the moment I first saw you and felt your gaze on me, everything changed. Nothing else seemed to matter. Not how we should have met earlier. Maybe in another life, in another time. But how this suddenly felt like the destination. How when you sit across the table from me cradling your face in those large creative hands and your amber eyes twinkle back at me as you fiddle with the crows' feet around them. That moment filled with all that naughtiness. Where we say nothing but our conversations seem to be endless. So, yes, we still have our moments where we’d rather just not be around each other because it angers me to even feel your presence. But how I refuse to go away like you refuse to let go of me! 
 
So, no, it’s not love. But, yes, it’s something like that.