When I was younger, “we” talked about love the way college kids talked about love. We were in love because we went to the movies on Friday nights and hung out together all weekend. We blushed when we sneaked kisses in the kitchens of parents’ houses, and prided ourselves on doing the nasty in public places without getting caught. In the eyes of my 18-year-old self, love was a physical thing defined by the fairy tales living in my mind, and held in check with society’s expectations.
Two decades later, the “we” has changed, and so have the musings of my heart. Love is pregnant with comfortable silent pauses, a knowing look and soft caresses. Compassion, understanding, compromise, forgiveness, honesty, companionship, respect and unity fill in the gaps. We steal kisses all the time without a flush of embarrassment, and make love with spirited enthusiasm and unrestrained appreciation. In the eyes of my 38-year-old self, love has moved into a soulful state of being, made perfect only with daily practice.