From Bee to Beloved
How simple it would be if love was about a spelling bee. How simple it would be if love were just a word indistinct from the other 3,995 words that are made up of four letters in the dictionary. Since I was little, the curious act of spelling words and repeating them over and over again made me remember more what they meant. For those who grew up with a memory that is filled with the smallest details and that is limited to retaining what oneself is forced to know, the fear of forgetting resonates in the innocent act of repeating words. That same act that became what it would be the only way for a little girl to never forget a word with four letters or more than that; the meaning it contained. But if it were just about counting letters then, what sense would it make to repeat eight letters in "I love you" just to get it right when the person who is willing to embrace it ,or simply not reject it, arrives.
Throughout my life the word love has been inhibited by its very definition, among the doodles of hearts, chocolates and flowers. Chocolates and flowers. Flowers. Those same ones that come to life to adorn the absence as if nature itself denied gratitude and consoled indifference. But what would my life be without feeling more than I should? Finding laughter in the midst of the messes I make with my sister in the kitchen, finding confidence in my mother's hugs and comfort among my grandmother's stories. What would love be, without the pure ability to find a home in a person regardless of the place or situation where sometimes there is not even a floor to lean on?
Love is not only about growing up and finding a person to share your entire life with, but also about all those who are willing to stand by you when they are aware that it may not be forever. Love is sometimes the only reason why ,when it comes to strangers, they, themselves, may be people who once knew everything about you. Or maybe once in a while, love can become the only danger you run into when the amount of it you give is not necessarily the other person's meaning but your own value. The unfathomable value of accepting that loving is not a wasted act when it comes to how you are as a parent, a child, a friend, a human being.
Perhaps one is who desperately seeks hatred so as not to feel that love is deserved, because even the person most surrounded by love will feel the agony of denied desire. Because the biggest storm for someone is hope, the one that repudiates that if at least every human being finds a rose without thorns or a prologue without an epilogue, in his heart he will not be able to love those around him for the simple detail of having weaknesses. A storm that only he provokes to feel that the true little love he receives is truly immense.
Love is sometimes realizing that the people around you have feet and that even when you are their path, you not only have to decorate yourself with flowers so that they enjoy passing by more, but also who receives their footsteps and collects their sores. Until you really love, you are suddenly struck by the fact that even oneself has feet, too. All this time love was the only word with which the mere fact of pronouncing it over and over again, makes its meaning to be lost gradually. Among all the words in the dictionary, I would choose one that was as pure as love. But at the same time, I have to accept that after all it has been, it is and always will be just a four-letter word. How simple it would be if love was about a spelling bee.