Love is the world’s greatest magic trick that somehow remains entirely explainable. It’s the one experience every human chases, the thing that’s been repackaged and resold to us in every movie, song, and dime-store novel since the beginning of recorded time. And yet, when it happens to you, it feels singular. Like you’re the first person to ever really get it. Like all those past love stories were just rough drafts leading up to this moment, this person, this specific and unrepeatable feeling.
At first, it’s ridiculous. You feel like a teenager even if you aren’t one anymore. Everything they do is cute—literally everything. The way they put their hands in their pockets. The way they furrow their brow while thinking. The way they tilt their head slightly when they listen to you. If anyone else did these things, you wouldn’t notice. But with them, it’s like watching the most captivating film of all time, where every expression, every word, every stupid inside joke becomes a landmark in the emotional atlas of your life. You don’t just want to be near them—you need to be near them. They make you feel like your insides are coated in warm honey, and sometimes it’s so much you think you might burst.
But then, it shifts. It becomes something deeper, more settled. Not less passionate, but less performative. You don’t have to be “on” around them. You can have a bad day, sit on the couch in silence, and somehow still feel understood. You can be the worst version of yourself, and they don’t leave. You can talk about absolutely nothing for hours and feel like you just had the most important conversation of your life. When they smile at you, it’s not just a smile—it’s your smile, meant only for you. It’s this weird, silent contract that says, “I see you, and I am staying.”
Being in love makes every dumb romantic cliché true. Suddenly, all the songs make sense. The ones you used to roll your eyes at? Yeah, now they hit different. You hear a lyric about someone being someone else’s everything and instead of scoffing, you nod along because yep, same. It’s embarrassing in the best possible way.
But love isn’t just butterflies and mixtapes. It’s also the thing that makes life livable when everything else falls apart. It’s coming home after the worst day of your life and knowing that someone is there, waiting, ready to sit with you in your sadness. It’s safety. It’s reassurance. It’s a quiet, unshakable presence that whispers, we’ll figure it out together. It’s the knowledge that, even if the entire world collapses around you, this person will be standing there with you in the rubble, holding your hand.
Love is a rollerblading at 1 AM kind of feeling. It’s knowing someone so well that a single glance can translate an entire conversation. It’s laughing at a joke nobody else would understand. It’s seeing their name pop up on your phone and feeling a sense of warmth before you even read the message. It’s them being the first person you want to tell when something incredible happens. It’s realizing that even if you were given the chance to rewrite your past, you wouldn’t change a thing—because every mistake, every heartbreak, every weird twist of fate led you to this.
And then one day, you realize that love isn’t about grand gestures or stolen glances—it’s about grocery lists and morning routines. It’s about making their coffee the way they like it, even when you don’t drink coffee yourself. It’s about the way they unconsciously reach for your hand in their sleep. It’s about the ridiculous arguments over what movie to watch and the quiet apologies afterward. It’s about recognizing that love isn’t one moment or even a collection of moments—it’s a presence, a force, a quiet certainty that reshapes your life without ever demanding to be noticed.
Love is absurd. Love is everything. Love is life, but better.