the profoundness of subtle love.

I have never experienced romantic love, just to make that clear.

I have never laid in the arms of a lover, I have never forged that kind of connection, I have never been surrounded by a presence full of warmth and devotion simply just for me.

Now, this might seem like a cry for help, and it may possibly, probably, be— but I think that my lack of real-time, physical experience has given me a perspective on not just the concept of love, but its many different shapes and forms.

You can find love anywhere. There’s love in everything around us, it breathes life into every being on this earth, flows in the currents and oceans of the earth, embedded deep in the rocks of this planet, built on and mastered by the most passionate of us all—

It’s not always loud, and fierce, sometimes it’s just there, barely noticeable.

Love doesn’t have to be some grand gesture, the world most precious gift, or whatever else you’d find in a cheesy rom com with Ryan Gosling; the concept, the feeling, the exchange of love, is not just a flurry of emotion, its gradual, pain-staking even, collaborations of moments and memories sewn together over time, months, years, or even minutes, woven into a familiar blanket of unconditional affection.

There’s love in remembering tiny things about each other: birthdays, favourite flowers, which aunt is which, the weird food combination you’ve had since childhood. It’s not on purpose, not performative, intentional to show you’re listening, just small, subconscious acknowledgement, and willing appreciation.

There’s love in a lingering presence, assurance, reliability, an unwavering constant that doesn’t keep you on edge, doesn’t make you jump. That clarity that there’s some sort of peace in life, something that’ll stay still no matter how many waves crash over and storms roll on by.

There’s love in little looks, small stolen glances, quick moments of shared thought between you, when someone says something wildly unfunny or outrageous, when a familiar phrase is heard, an unassuming mention to an inside joke; pausing time to check if the other caught that thing that you share between you.

There’s love in knowing frowns, and concerned eyes: if one of you isn’t as bright as usual, or if a voice wavers slightly, recognising slips and falls. That unconscious reaction to something so little, determined loyalty to your other half.

There’s love in playful grins, and quiet laughter, when you say something so stupid you can’t help but laugh, annoyingly repeating the same joke God knows how many times, recounting interactions, who said what, who did who. Not the funniest thing in the world, hell, probably not even funny at all, but it counts.

There’s love in small disagreements, what movie deserved an Emmy, what colour suits the other best, whether the vampire diaries is actually a reflection of our obsession with being desirable, even by evil, disguised as a moody teen love story (which it totally is by the way, no I will not be taking any critique on this, yes I was, and still am, team Damon).

There’s love in the warmth of a hand in yours, tightening, a little ‘I’m here’, secret squeezes meaning secret messages, codes only you can decipher. Not a big embrace, not a bold statement, a shout to the world, just something soft, quiet confession.

Maybe I watch too many people fall in love too many times on a screen, or daydream a bit too long, but don’t you think there’s a beauty to these kinds of things? Tiny moments and acts that just happen, no motive or drive, nothing to gain from. It’s just so pure, so visceral and innocent to be thought about without intention, for just no reason at all, to be felt and held, just for the sake of it, to be seen and heard, willingly and appreciatively.

I don’t know about you, but I’d take that over some draining cycle of labelled, non-labelled, messy mixed signalled pinning any day.

But hey, who knows, maybe I’m just a lonely girl with too much love to give to no one in particular at all. That’s why they say Tumblr is a woman’s best friend.

—M.