You can stop taking quizzes in Cosmo. Here’s what love really is.
Love is
still wanting to hold someone after you climax. After the initial
euphoria from the orgasm wears off, you’re replaced with a sense of calm
rather than a panic. You don’t want to search for your clothes,
scramble to find your keys and figure out the best way to tell them,
“See ya later forever!” You’re fine with chilling out in bed with the
person and maybe ordering pad thai later.
Love is
unattractive. It can expose our worst traits: Jealousy, irrational
fears, heated anger; the gang’s all here! While it can bring out
compassion and tenderness, it can also make you behave like the ugliest
version of yourself. That can be okay for a little while, but love with
real longevity should be like a xanax rather than an adderall.
Love is
not afraid to be schmaltzy. There’s a reason why the most popular love
songs are so lyrically simple. You can drown it in metaphors all you
want but love usually boils down to, “You make me so happy. I want to
hold your hand. I just want u 2 be mine 4ever!” You can be a 50-year-old
linguistics professor at Columbia University and still find something
to relate to in a Mariah Carey ballad if you’re in love because the
feelings are so universal. It’s humbling, isn’t it? No matter who you
are or what your background is, love can reduce you to Mariah Carey
mush.
Love is an
all-consuming drug. It gives us these natural highs we’ve only read
about in books or heard in songs. It’s addictive. It’s what keeps us
going to bars, drinking glasses of wine, going to that stupid house
party in Bushwick; it’s all for the possibility of finding love. In the
wrong hands, love can be dangerous and scary. If someone lacks a healthy
foundation, love can kill. All of these crimes you read about in the
newspapers are usually linked to passionate love. “I did it because I
loved them just…too much.”
Love is
not what our parents had. In high school, you never wanted to think
about your mother and father having once slept with people in the
backseat of cars and feeling warm and happy. That would make it feel
less special and young. It would make love have less to do with you
when, EXCUSE ME, it has EVERYTHING to do with you.
Love is
getting drunk with your significant other at a party and taking a cab
home with your bodies intertwined. You feel safest in these moments, the
most secure. Entering a social gathering with someone who loves you is
the biggest security blanket. People leave the party as a parade of
droopy expressions and sad cocktail dresses. But not you. “Sorry guys,
I’m in love! I’m taking a car!”
Love is
fucking stupid. Love is fucking smart. Love is about betraying yourself,
of compromising your ideals for someone else’s approval. That’s
actually the bad kind of love, but I guess it all blurs together when
you’re young or when you’re old or when you don’t love yourself.
Love is
your significant other telling you about their favorite album and then
making a point to fall in love with it on your own. Love is wondering
why your better half loves certain things. You think you can find
remnants of them in their favorite films, books and songs, but you
usually can’t.
Love is
finding yourself feeling protective over someone else’s well-being Love
is being incensed with rage when someone or something has done your
lover wrong.
Love is
wanting your partner to cum. And if they can’t, just say, “That’s okay.
I’m enjoying this.” It might be bullshit, but they’ll be orgasming in
the next five minutes. Trust me.
Love isn’t
always marriage. Marriage is spending $60,000 so everyone can know that
someone loves you. You know what’s certainly not love? Debt. In some
cases, love can be divorce.
Love is a
back massage, a mindfuck, a hard cock, a pair of perfect breasts, of
feeling unashamed about the cellulite on your body. Love is someone
giving a shit about you enough to argue. Love is not passive. Love is
“Don’t fucking touch me right now.” Love is “Who the FUCK were you
talking to?” Love is sometimes hating yourself for a second. Love is
hate. Period. Indifference is the real killer of love and the true
antithesis.
When love
leaves you, you should be lying on your bathroom floor with no resolve.
You’re smoking cigarettes in the bathtub and crying about everything bad
that’s ever happened.
Love is
someone seeing the beauty in you and wanting to bask in it every day all
day. Love is not guaranteed. We are not owed love. That’s why when we
get it, we know how lucky we are and hold on to it for dear life.
So, yeah. That’s what love is.