Living on borrowed time: that’s what I feel like I’ve been doing in the last few months. Have you ever felt you were just waiting on something?

Just hopelessly, meekly, patiently waiting… for something.

As I lay in bed that night with Ron Pope playing through the speakers, the thought hit me: I want to get married.

It’s typical- almost satirical, really. I love love. I love the idea of love. I’ve always been a fan of love even in sickness and in heartbreaks.

Love is stunning. Love is heartless. Love is selfish. Love is selfless. Love is kind. Love is brutal but love is fair.

Love smelled like whiskey.

Love was the act of him coming home to me every Friday night, intoxicated and heaving in the musky scent of Black Label and Jack Daniels. Love was the slurring of three 8-letter words, over and over. Love was waking up in the morning knowing where he was without needing to open his eyes.

I knew love. And love knew me. Love was always careful around me. Love knew what I needed when I was sad. Love knew what not to say when I was at my lowest. Love knew that food was the solution to almost everything. Love looked at me like I was a dying rose- fragile and beautiful.

Love was not there when I needed it the most but my goodness, love is beautiful.

At age of 17, love was not ready.

At the age of 21, love disappeared and love reappeared.

And now at the age of 25, love is still not ready.

But love is patient. Love is not going anywhere. Love is timeless. Love knows no expiration date. Love is never limited to one person and it will always be lurking in the shadows when you least expect it.

So, even when I lose faith in love, I tell myself to relax.

Because love? Love can wait.