Do we write about any topic more? Does any word do a worse job at describing its meaning?
All we get is four letters. Four measly letters is meant to sum up all of this. All of the joy and all of the pain. It’s not fair. I want more letters. I want another language.
The language of love can surely only live in our music and art. But I can’t type that into this screen. I can never capture the feeling of being in love with words the way a song can or video or a painting can.
The colour of their eyes will tell you nothing about what it’s like to stare into them.
The texture of their skin will tell you nothing about what it’s like to be held by them.
The sound of their laugh will tell you nothing about what it’s like to watch them experience joy.
These are all horribly inadequate. But they are all I have.
I wonder if this is the point? That the beauty in love is that it cannot be captured. It can never be written about adequately. You can learn all the languages you like. Play all the instruments. Create all the paintings. But, it will never and can never be enough.
You will be the only one to know what it’s like to stare into their eyes.
You will be the only one to know what it’s like to be held by them.
You will be the only one to know what it’s like to watch them laugh so big.
And you will never be able to explain it to anybody else. As hard as you try.
It is something that exists only between you and them.
You know it and they know it and that is enough. That is enough for it to be real and that is where you can stop. That is where I can stop.
Trying to explain it to you is no good. You just won’t get it. I wish you could, but you can’t. And I can never understand your love. But that’s okay. And we are okay.
I love my love and I know that only one person will ever understand it fully.
And that’s what makes it special.
And that’s what makes it impossible to write about.