Love: to feel a deep romantic attraction.

I’d always seen the word “love”
plastered on the front of magazines
and embedded into the plots
of every movie I watched as a kid.

I witnessed my sisters go through boyfriends
claiming they’d love every one of them
until their dying breath.
My mom and dad would say it, and at six
I completely and naively believed it.
Love was just something I was
molded by society to long for,
something I was expected to find.

But when I started growing up
and my sisters were hurt by every man
who swore to protect them,
and the man who promised to cherish mom
walked out, I thought maybe love
wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Yet on the long summer nights
where I would stay up late watching
stories filled with romance playing out perfectly,
I still hoped one day that would be me.
Then high school came, and everything changed.
I realized love was never solely romantic
or only from family who I was told “had to love me”
I learned that love can be passed between human beings
purely by existing in each other’s universe.
But what I realized too late was that this kind of love
leaves scars just as deep.

I had friends here and there that would claim
to love me unconditionally,
friends who promised to be there for me forever,
but when things got tough, they walked away from me,
carrying all the remnants of love that I had left to give.

Half way through and I was an empty shell,
thinking that I would be okay
if I never had to love someone again.
Because if I ever had to give a part of my heart and soul
away to another person who would take and never return,
then I wanted nothing to do with it.
But the universe never liked to listen to what I had to say
and it decided to present me with a new set of people
I would eventually grow to love with every ounce of me.
So lately I’ve been plagued with questions
on what love really and truly means.
People like to define it so many different ways:
romantic love, true love, platonic love, so many
different feelings that only confuse me.
And yes, I know there is a difference between
“love” and “in love” but recently, I’ve started thinking
about what “just love” means to me.

Love feels like car rides with the windows
all the way down while the wind tangles our hair
and with the music all the way up while we scream
every word to every song.

Love feels like sleepovers at my house
laying on top of each other and watching
videos on someone’s phone,
bursting with laughter every few minutes.

Love feels like holding hands while we walk
down the hallway and not caring what others think
because whose business is it anyway?

Love feels like being wrapped in each other’s
arms because sometimes that is the safest place
in the entire world
and crying into the shoulder of the person
you would literally give your own life for
because they never want to see you hurting
and you appreciate them so much for that.
Love feels like being their own personal
cheerleader because sometimes they
are their own worst critic.
And you can’t possibly imagine how
they don’t see what you see
but you’ll do anything to help them get there.

You see, all the little moments blur together
into an emotion that I can’t begin to describe.
Like grinning all they way to their house
because you haven’t seen them in a week.
And simply telling them you’re there for them
when it feels like no one else is.
And promising to visit as much as we can
after we go our separate ways.

Love: my three best friends who have helped
to make me into the best version there could
ever possibly be.

And maybe one day, I’ll find that fairy tale
kind of love that I always dreamed of,
but for right now I know I have a love that I
could never thank the world enough for.
Because these individuals have redefined
the word for me, and I love them so much for it.

I am the moon,
a secondary character
in someone else’s story.
That “someone” is the Earth,
a being I revolve around
who only revolves around another.
That “another” is the sun,
a being who everyone marvels at,
the source of all light and life.

I wish I could be your sun.
The object of your attention,
of your affection,
the source of everything you
can’t possibly live without.
Because you are my world.
I would happily keep spinning
circles around you
if it meant you would finally
lift your head to the sky
and see me.

I’ve never understood what
you see in him.
All he ever does is burn.
His light hurts your eyes,
and you can’t even look;
his secrets hidden below the
warm façade of his surface.
The heat he gives off
singes your skin making it
hot to the touch and
while red has always been
a dazzling color on you,
I hate that it’s a mark left by him.
And when you pull back
to keep from getting scarred,
his absence leaves a hole
that pulls you right back in
for more, like his gravity’s pull
never let you go.

And in the background, I stand,
waiting for you to run to me,
the master of manipulating
your tears—like the tides—into a smile
that shines so bright I think
it might outdo his very existence.
And when you’re done using me
to make yourself feel better
for always getting too close just
to get scorched by his unhealthy rays,
engaging in this toxic dance of
back and forth,
you continue to squint in his direction
hoping he’ll happen to notice you
instead of tilting your head to notice me
among all the stars I have to offer you.

I wish I could be your sun
because maybe then you could
realize that he was never
good enough for you.
And he will always keep shining
to lure in the ones who are captivated
by his very being,
only to hurt them in favor of
shining for another.

Then again, if being the sun
leads to heartbreak and scars
just know that I will always be
Your Moon.

Safety has always been my biggest priority.
I think maybe that’s why I slept in your bed
until I was eleven.
I knew that no matter what happened,
you would always be there to wrap me up
and tell me that everything would be okay.
Your love for your children is the purest
kind that I have ever experienced.

When Dad left, you were all I had in this world,
and although you needed time to figure it all out,
you fell into the role of a single parent gracefully.
You picked yourself, both your daughters, and a baby
off the ground and built a beautiful life for us all.
You sacrificed more for us than I can begin to imagine.

I know I don’t say “thank you” enough.
I think if I said it every day for the rest of my life,
it would never be enough to capture how truly
grateful I am to have a mother and role model like you.
You are the embodiment of selflessness,
and I am forever amazed by your strength.
Being raised by you was the greatest privilege.

Every time someone compliments me, I tell them
“I get it from my mama” because everything that you
passed on to me, is something I am beyond proud of.
And I know you’ve wanted me to write a poem about you,
but it’s a struggle to find the perfect amount of words
that I can use to describe how much you mean to me.
I hope this is a good start, though.

I love you more than I have ever loved
anyone or anything else in this entire world.
From the moment I came into existence,
you loved me unconditionally and became my biggest fan.
You have molded me into the best version of me,
and you have truly built me from the ground up.
Thank you for being a mother that I am proud to call mine.

My dream love feels like a coffee house.

It smells like the fall air and the leaves changing
and it sounds like pretty laughter and morning conversations.
It tastes like lattes and fresh baked pastries
and it looks like warm eyes and beautiful smiles.

She comes in and orders the same thing every morning.
I work behind the counter, and I’m always tired,
but when she walks through the door,
I feel like I’ve had a whole *** of the strongest brew.
She radiates confidence I can only wish to have,
and I wonder sometimes if she fakes it like I try to.

I know her order by heart, but I let her say it anyway
because I love how the words connect together
as if they were composed by Mozart himself.
I try my best to play it cool, to brush off the dizzy spell
that hits when our fingers touch while she takes her change.
To act like my stomach isn’t swarmed with butterflies
when she wraps both hands around the cup
and smiles with her eyes shut, fully content.

I’ve always been fond of genuine people,
the ones who speak softly and honestly,
and who hand out happiness
like they have an unlimited supply.
People who make conversations easy when my anxiety
is screaming at me to avoid any type of socializing.
People who make me think harder and laugh louder.

And I often find myself hoping that the cliché of
true love really does exist because
I could use a light in the dark, a partner in crime
who balances me so completely, it’s as if
we were perfectly made for each other.
And when she waves, the bell above the door ringing,
I always find myself craving a cup of coffee.