What does love feel like in your body?

I’ve started asking people this question as part of the interview series I conduct on Creative Life, but I’ve never answered this question myself. What does love feel like to me?

I’m afraid to answer this question, because I think I may have mistaken love for obsession once or twice. I think I’ve mistaken it for the right thing said at the right time. Or for the suppressed thing that thank god I didn’t say out loud. I’ve mistaken it for sex and flirty texts, and I’ve mistaken it for a look that made me believe they saw me. I’ve also mistaken it for that thing they called me out on that I didn’t think anybody else could see. But they did. So I thought they loved me. Or that they could. And that maybe if they did, I could love them back.

What does love feel like in my body?

It feels like fear. It feels anxious and impatient. It’s an experience that I want to compare with yours to see if I’m doing it right, because I’m so scared that I’m not, and that I’m mistaking it for something else again. And I don’t want to do it wrong. I hate being wrong.

On my wall I have a photo of two different couples dancing in the rain. When I think about love, I think about this. I think about reading across from them as our toes tease between paragraphs. I think about the pressure of two hands sliding onto my shoulders while I’m working, and I picture being able to do the same thing for them. I think about someone whose hug warms me – calming the nervous energy that I’ve received advice from so many people on how to correct. Love, to me, feels perfect, and I’m so afraid… I’m not perfect enough yet.

And if I’m being completely honest, love is so difficult for me to understand, because more than anything I’m most afraid of being loved. The responsibility feels heavy in my throat, and I don’t want the pressure of being the recipient of a word that I’ve mistaken for so many different things. And I don’t want to be loved by someone who only sees the parts that I remembered to refrigerate over night, and not the mould.

And still, I smile because….

I want love to happen all at once so that I can stop thinking about it. I don’t want the build up. Sometimes, and I hope you can relate, I just wish that I was there already, and that the stories could be added later. I want to read the book backwards to ease my anxiety, and yet… I get bored easily. So, that probably won’t work.

I’d like to clarify that this reflection is not about any one person, but about the experiences I’ve had with many different people. One night stands included. This reflection is about the many times that I’ve retreated mid-jump and hit my head on a stone I missed in my periphery – right when I thought I was safe. But maybe that’s just love. Maybe love is the most dangerous feeling we can allow ourselves to experience in our lives. And if that’s the case, then holy shit. I’m surrounded by bravery.