I now know that some people feel unhappiness the way others love: privately, intensely, and without recourse.
I’m not saying that at some point love isn’t staying up until 2am phone calls or stealing kisses when you least expect it, or instantly falling for each other’s favorite songs because it is, or at least that’s what the lead up to it feels like, but real love, is so much more. It’s going out at 12am to get something to eat for your wife who can’t get out of bed, it’s listening to them as they explode with vulnerability on your living room couch talking about how they were only so young when their parents passed on. it’s remembering how someone likes their coffee in the morning without asking—without ever asking, it’s visiting someone in the hospital knowing the last thing you want to do is see them in that condition, it’s wanting to be with that person despite everything, the future, the past, and everything in between, it’s the intimate things that you don’t even realize involve such intimacy, but they do, in secret, like the pinky promises you two made behind your back, to love one another for always, in the time you thought you were in love, when you were actually just on your way to it.
I do not sleep to dream, she says to him, I sleep to forget you.
I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and when they’re crying ─ and cannot be anything but honest in that moment. I love the look in people’s eyes when they realize that they’re in love. I love the way people look when they first wake up, when they’ll be forgetting all their surroundings. I love the gasp that people take when their favorite character dies. I love when people close their eyes and drift to somewhere in the clouds. I fall in love with people and their honest moments ─ all the time. I fall in love with their breakdowns and their smeared makeup. Honesty is just too beautiful to ever put into words.