Don’t ever think that you are not loved.
I can hear your ancestors descending to haunt you this very minute. Do you know how many love stories it took to get you here? To breathe life into you? How many clandestine rendezvous in old barns spent looking up at the stars? How many “those crazy kids’?” How many unbelievers? How many naysayers? You come from a long line of fairy tales that came true and star crossed lovers that overcame the odds. You come from so many small, intimate expressions of love that reassured us there was hope when the world tried everything in its power to separate and divide. You come from slow dances underneath lemon trees. Countless first kisses and marriage concecrations. You are the product of an abundance of quills and blotted ink, of messy handwriting, stamps and postcards filled with “I can’t wait to see yous’”. You’re the result of nights spent overlooking the city’s landscape of lights, hands interlocked, breathing in each other. You’re the collection of every minute of sleep deferred just so “I can hear your voice again.” You’re the climax of elegant courtships and sanctioned marriages, as much as the elopes and denials of inheritance and status. The many utterances of “I've been waiting so long for this, for you.” The stepping over of flimsy lines drawn in the sand. The result of pounding heart beats and stomach dropping moments following declarations of like and love. You are the risk. You are the vulnerability. You are the life haunting realization that what you were seeking was beside you all along. You are the warmth of holding the person you love most in the world close to your chest. You are the cold from having to sleep beside air when your other half is gone. You are the electricity and anticipation of every first touch. You are the familiarity of friendship transformed into affectionate, gentle, old age love. You are the pure joy that comes from the expanse of smiles in stolen moments. You are the legacy of workplace romances, blind dates, college sweethearts, high school sweethearts, international couples, interracial couples, nuclear families, patchwork families, soldiers wives, and handsome bar strangers. You are the inheritance of first loves, last loves, short loves, deep loves, passionate loves, and lifelong loves. You are the existence of all of the romeos and juliets before you. All the loves that survived in the face of war, prejudice, violence, separation and grief.
Do you know how many heartbreaks it took to get you here? How many wrong turns? How many “I thought he was the ones’” and “I’ll be alone forevers’?” It took so many self doubts and fears. So many abandonments and left for deads. So many tragic pairings whose only role in the story was to act as intermediary to the next affair. So many years of longing, praying and waiting filled with confusion, anger and sadness. So many loves taken too soon by plague, war and mistakes. But even in those links, you were forged from love. From the sacrifice of your single mother who worked four jobs and raised her children on her own. From the self love and confidence that blossoms from hardship, once it’s given a chance to take root. From the love formed in the deep throws of memory that produce an extenuating existence, passed down through generations. From the steadfast pillars of your lineage that chose life when it didn’t feel like they had another option. From the finding of your wits end that brought the end of addiction and the beginnings of healing. This is the kind of love you come from. Love that is unstoppable in its progression. Love that is unexpected and unpredictable. That is surprisingly resilient and incredibly diverse. You are the result of generations upon generations of epic love stories. A masterpiece. A tapestry woven together from decades of frivolous, boundless, sweet, suductory, committed, forgiving, difficult, messy love.
So don't ever say that you are not loved because, my dear, you are the culmination of it. You are it. You are love.
Author's Note: This piece was inspired by a line of poetry written by Linda Hogan, which I discovered in Susan Straight’s novel In The Country of Women: “You are the result of the love of thousands.”
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