To wrap up wedding week, I was thinking about all the ways that love presents itself to us over time. This isn’t quite a poem and it’s nowhere near a finished piece (more like a piece of a piece), but sometimes a freewrite is just a freewrite and it takes whatever form it wants until you go back in to clean it up.
When I was four, love looked like my dad’s hat, which I would steal from his head and run with through the house laughing, knowing he would chase me to get it back.
When I was eight, love looked like the way my mom dipped her head to laugh at my dad’s jokes, even when they weren’t funny.
When I was fourteen, love looked like the diamond ring my dad bought my mom for their anniversary, and sounded like the six times I called them during dinner to see if she liked it.
When I was seventeen, love looked like the blank white screen of the movie theater before the show started, everything ahead, and smelled like the pool.
When I was nineteen, love looked like shopping bags from the outlet mall— purple sweaters, brown purses, and a beaming smile of pride to have purchased them for me.
When I was twenty, love looked like the crease in my grandmother’s forehead as she held my grandfather’s hand in the hospital bed on the eve of their fifty-second wedding anniversary.
When I was twenty-one, love looked like a pair of ocean-blue eyes, and felt like the calm eye in the middle of a storm.
When I was twenty-three, love looked like a new puppy, chewing and exploring his new home, wobbly on his feet.
When I was twenty-four, love looked like a church filled with everyone I’ve ever known, and included a long walk with my dad, sweating from nerves and the heat.
When I was twenty-seven, love looked like a brunch menu with specials much too hard to choose between, and tasted like a bloody mary.
When I was twenty-eight, love looked like smiling to myself in the mirror, and felt like exhaling after taking a deep breath.
Lit & Love,