I painted a thing a few weeks ago. It’s the first time I’ve ever freely painted anything. No classes, no reference image, no idea what the hell I was doing. When it was “finished”, I realised it was missing something. I set my brush down, drove back to the art shop, grabbed some crazy expensive paint markers, and scrawled the word ‘love’ over the top of it in giant block capitals. Now it was finished.
Love.
Love is my favourite word to write. I don’t know why.
Romantic poetry is my favourite kind of poetry.
Rom-Com’s are my favourite kind of films. Especially the predictable ones, I watch them completely unironically. I have terrible taste – I agree.
I love, Love.
Yet, I rarely express love. If I do, it’s masked as a joke, or it’s something so completely unrelated to the emotion that it’s often unrecognisable. I don’t like that about myself. I find it really hard to express myself open and honestly. I’m working on that. I’m working REALLY, REALLY fucking hard on that. My first instinct has always been to hide from sharing, to hide from opening up, to run away. I’m not that guy, I’ve never wanted to be that guy. But at times, I’ve absolutely – regrettably – been that guy.
I’ll freely admit I love football, I looooove yoga, I love Peter Crouch, I love Panic! at the disco’s first album. All things, Peter Crouch potentially excluded, that don’t love me back. All things I don’t really love. I enjoy football, I need yoga, I admire Peter Crouch, and I like the dulcet tones of Brandon Urie. I’ll so willingly announce my love for them for the whole world to see. But I won’t do the same for those I actually love, why?
Loves a funny thing. What is it? Every decent definition I’ve seen lacks something. It’s fitting, but it isn’t quite right? Google reckons it’s simply “an intense feeling of deep affection”… nothing more, nothing less, as simple as that? Surely not? Some say love hurts, surely not? That sounds like a toxic relationship that might be better left alone. I asked a bunch of people, and while their definitions were all adequate, they were only just that. Adequate. No offence.
“True comfort” definitely! But just that?
“heightened emotions” Absolutely! But that also happens in stress, and sadness, and joy, and alcohol induced states! Surely something else separates love?
Every definition started out as just a few words, and within seconds grew into a sentence, a paragraph, a full blown conversation. Clearly, the collective cannot decide. I took some comfort in that.
This post is all over the show. Which is fitting, really?
For someone with such miserable luck in relationships, and “love”, I think about it often. Which is strange, for someone who has never actively searched; or thought much about love in relation to himself? I wondered a lot when I was a bit younger. Am I capable of that? Is love something that the universe has ready for me? For the longest time I thought I wasn’t. That I could never. Years ago one of my friends made an off hand comment that he could see me being asexual. which at the time wasn’t a word that was exactly in the lexicon of the general public. It panicked me? At the time I associated attraction with love, and I couldn’t get his comment out of my head. Was I!? Could he tell at a glimpse that I felt little to nothing inside? How!? Is this “normal”? I soon realised he was completely wrong, as was my association between attraction and love.
I think part of the reason to why I think so often about love is my past. Have I ever been “In LoVe”? I guess that depends on what your definition of “in love” is? Have I ever had heightened emotions towards someone? Absolutely. Have I ever felt true comfort. Absolutely. Do I think I’ve been in love? My brain wants to say yes? But my heart says no.
For the sake of clarity, and not to come off like a nob, all the relationships – if you want to call them that – I’m referring to, are very much finished.
My heart says no. I don’t think what I felt was love. Maybe it seemed that way in the heat of the moment, but life experience and hindsight tell me otherwise. For me, there’s a fine line between infatuation and love. Holding someone up on a pedestal – isn’t love. Sacrificing yourself at someones expense – isn’t love. Non-reciprocal “love” – isn’t love.
Experience is better shared. While I feel as though my experience in love has never been shared, I don’t doubt for a second that love shared is exponentially greater than infatuation. Exponentially. Shared pain is easier to deal with. Shared laughter is louder laughter. I don’t doubt for a second that reciprocated feelings of “love” trumps infatuation every time.
I took a love language quiz a few days ago, feeling confused, and almost blind to my own understanding of how I feel love. The answers highlighted what I knew all along; but had been to ignorant to my own emotions to understand. For those of you who are like me and are/were unaware of the 5 love languages they are as follows; Quality time, receiving gifts, acts of service, words of affirmation, and finally physical touch.
According to this quiz – how reliable it is, is questionable – Gift giving is my least relatable love language. 3%. I completely agree. Gifts mean very little to me. I’m picky, I have a hard time receiving them, and an even harder time giving them. I’m a gift card birthday present kinda guy, you buy me one, I’ll buy you one – sorted. I’ve given maybe 2 thoughtful gifts in my entire life, maybe that’s a consequence of it meaning so little to me to receive them.
Acts of service and words of affirmation came in behind with 13% and 17% respectively. I am my own biggest critic, and I’m independent to a fault. I struggle accepting help, and more so accepting praise when I don’t feel it’s deserved. Example. My final year Interpreting exam. I don’t think I’ve ever felt as unhappy with my academic performance in my entire life. Straight after the exam I had to attend the Spanish Film Festival I’d help organise, my mood couldn’t have been lower. I was furious at myself. Seething. My tutors were delighted. I finished with 73% my highest mark in that module. The grade meant nothing, I felt I’d let myself down, and percentage points would do little to change that. All that being said, when the stars do align, and I’m genuinely proud of something I’ve done I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t feel nice to have someone else be proud of me too – though I absolutely won’t show it.
In second place was touch. 20%. I don’t have a whole lot to say about this other than it’s pretty evident how near to my heart I hold you if we’re in anyway physical at all. That might just be a hand on the shoulder, or leaning on you when I’m tired. Anything more than that and count yourself in the chosen few. If you don’t get at least a fist bump, or a high five from me – for the love of God don’t touch me. I don’t like it at all; you’re basically a smelly stranger on the bus to me.
In first place was quality time with 47%. 47. Percent. When I really think about it, this comes as no surprise to me. No surprise whatsoever. But why is this so important to me? The more I think about it, the more it has to do with my own insecurities than something someone else can do for me. Every relationship I’ve been in has been started on shaky ground. An ex still lingering in the background, a current partner still – regretfully – involved, other options available. Lies, deceit, mistruths, all of that. It’s easy to buy a gift to try and impress someone. It’s easy to text something you don’t really mean. The same can be said for being physical with someone. You can’t lie about quality time. You can try, but the truth comes to the fore pretty quick. It’s difficult to not keep looking at your phone, it’s difficult to keep attending plans you don’t really want to go to. The light in your eyes goes out real quick when deep down you don’t want to be somewhere with someone. The vibe changes, the conversation dies out instantly, it’s obvious. With my past, I’ve always felt hidden. Like I was this undercover second choice boyfriend , like I was second fiddle until a better option returned to the scene. So the one thing I know I needed most to feel loved, Quality time, was never given. This isn’t some “oh poor little Flynn” sob story piece. I’ve been an asshole in the past, but there are plenty of posts on here about that. Just ask me, I’ll happily tell you. I’m trying to be better, I am better, acknowledging the past is a part of that. Someone actively choosing to spend time with me, and being present more than just physically, means the absolute world to me. We could watching paint dry, or skydiving, it’s irrelevant. We could be eating a 3 Michelin star meal, or a piece of toast, it makes absolutely no difference to me. Active presence is the only thing on the menu for me.
Am I worried about what the future has in store for me with regards to love? Terrified. I’ve never thought more about my future more. Will I ever feel more than infatuation? Will feelings be reciprocal one day? Will I ever be able to describe what love is? I have no idea, but I sure hope so. I hope so to all over the above.
That’s all I can be right now, hopeful.
I end every post the same way. Always have.
Love,
Flynn! x
Let's go on an adventure. 