love is

a poem, i guess?

love, love, love, and so on.

I’m feeling soppy, so here’s a list of love in action - some I’ve seen, some I’ve felt, some I’ve done.

All of them, with love.

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Love is letters or cards arriving in the post

and sending single friends flowers on valentine’s day

and forehead kisses

and the extra squeeze before letting go of a hug

and “I’m home!” texts

and getting FaceTime calls from your 2 y/o nephew in the middle of the work day.

Love is walking on the outside of the pavement so they’re further from the traffic

and keeping her steady on the bus while she uses both hands to type instead of holding onto the pole

and squeezing into spaces that are too small for two people to fit through just so you can keep holding hands without breaking.

Love is pivoting the girl dinner menu to homemade noodle soup because they’re sick

and going to the French pharmacy while she’s curled up in a constipated ball on the floor of the Airbnb

and a fresh cup of tea waiting outside your door in the morning

and buying oat milk especially because she’s coming over and prefers it.

Love is this 30-minute playlist

and making collaborative playlists for trips

and anonymously playing your Desert Island Discs and having to guess whose song is whose

and never listening to that song in the same way ever again.

Love is recommending books you think they’d like

and lending books you think they’d like

and buying them a book you think they’d like

and discussing books you’ve both read

and reading out passages that moved you.

Basically, love is books.

love is private property

Love is waiting to watch the next episode until you can watch it together

and rewatching an episode you’ve already seen just to keep them company while they watch it

and unironically coordinating outfits

and getting matching tattoos.

Love is sending them 5-minute+ voice notes

and listening to their 5-minute+ voice notes

and taking copious notes so you can reply in full to every point

and singing Happy Birthday over a voice note instead of sending a text.

Love is “You don’t need to reply to this, but I just want to say…”

and “I’ll get this one.”

and “You got the last one.”

and “Ok well next one’s on me.”

and anonymously referencing a conversation you had with them in your substack. (You know who you are pal.)

Love is whip arounds for flowers when a friend receives bad news or feels poorly

and rearranging plans to accompany them for medical appointments

and writing the dates of friends’ life events (that have nothing to do with you) in your calendar so you remember what’s going on in their lives

and sending good luck/well done/hope you’re ok messages.

Love is saying the scary thing

and trusting they’ll listen with grace

and being prepared to hear the hard things yourself

and setting clear boundaries

and telling them when they’ve overstepped yours.

Love is scheduling karaoke sessions with that one trusted friend because screaming out of tune in a hot sweaty box is cheaper than therapy

and taking it in turns to perform your solo ballads

and being the most enthusiastic 1-person audience you can possibly be

and patiently sitting through a 2 hour dance show to watch them dance on stage for only 2 minutes.

That really is love.