I recently told my boyfriend of three months “I love you.” I should clarify – my ex-boyfriend. Yes, that ship has sailed. Me-being-me, I bluntly confronted him: “If I never said I love you, would things be different?”
His response: “Well, you did say it.”… Sigh.
Three months may seem short, and some people toss those words around like nothing. Deep down I knew there was a chance he didn’t feel the same way. Not yet. I did however think he was comfortable enough with commitment to stick around nonetheless. We were completely comfortable with each other? We were friends? Had it not already been implied?
I’m the wear-your-heart-on-your-sleeve type of woman. I like that about myself. I should have known right then and there; when I whispered those words and he stared at me like life was ending. I immediately felt my heart drop, and twist in embarrassment. It wasn’t the same after that. We were both on different paths, and maybe “I love you” was that realization.
When did love become so terrifying to people? I’ve heard stories about women being dumped after voicing those three innocent little words. I’ve been told I should have waited for him to say it first. Why?
“Oh shit, I dropped the L-bomb.”
It takes courage to say those words. I won’t be strategic or coy about saying I love you. Strategic and coy is for jackasses.
Some people seem to crave love, and others dismiss it all together. I hate to be cliché and remind people that life is short. I love a lot of people, and I fall in love faster than the beat in a dubstep song.
So what does love mean to me? It could just mean I think you’re groovy. It doesn’t necessarily mean you’re-the-light-of-my-life-give-me-babies. Love can be temporary. Love can be a good feeling. Love can simply just be love. There’s nothing frightening about it.