"Where is Love" by Willow Pawlisch
Some people say there is no love in the words "I love you". Some people avoid saying "I love you" as much as possible. Some people say it's because the words have lost meaning: it's been said too much by too many to hold any real emotion anymore. Scornful bigoted aunts and lengthy superficial phone calls can't possibly use the same words as a heartfelt, sunlit beach conversation with sand between your toes; however, one could argue the same words can have different meanings be used in different ways, but nonetheless, the love is gone from "I love you".
The love in "I love you" can be drained in many ways. The meaning can be bled out in the guilt tripping and gas lighting after a spiraling argument over boiling pots and dirty countertops. The feeling is lost in the wordy and baseless reassurances of a stranger. The authenticity is wasted on ecstasy-induced slurred-soliloquy confessions of lust at a highschool party. Overuse and neglect have left the words to be discarded like a euthanized pet in a dumpster.
Where does the love in "I love you" go? Is it hidden in the contracts of 782,038 divorced couples? Chained in legality and bound by regret. Did it load its pockets with unskipped rocks and wade into the coldest ocean? Drowned and waterlogged under gallons of salty tears. Maybe it's buried in the forgotten presents under a Christmas tree abandoned by hastily exiting families. The love is frozen in kind worded gift cards and burned to ash in the hard stares at the young couple holding hands across the dining room table. The long driveway filled with slush soaks the love into mush, and it watches as the car pulls away. Never to return.
People say "I love you" doesn't carry any weight. That it's a tumbleweed of dried hopes and skin deep promises. They would be right. The words don't hold emotion. Love is not found in words. Love is found in the heart.
In the hearts that beat in the silent drive home. In the soft sighs and half asleep mumblings about the day. Moonlight shines through trees into windows dancing patterns across the bare backseat. The grumbling engine and tick-ticking turn signal frame the soft smiles passed across the dashboard casting warmth to push the chill of night away. Cars move past, tapping fingers echo in the muted cabin, eyes slip shut. Gentle hands shake shoulders awake and greatful yawns wave goodnight from under a single porchlight. Not a breath of "I love you" leaves their lips.
Love is not in words. Love is in the humming swirled with the smell of pancakes floating up the steps and into a child's bedroom. In the peaceful sanctuary found wrapped in the arms of a friend. In the crests and wanes of conversation and joking arguments. In squeezed hands and small nods. In the screamed karaoke soundtrack of radio pop hits from 2010 and the dollar store disco balls radiating rainbow light. In the shared fries, chips, and icecream cones. In unspoken, unbreaking trust. In the breathy chuckles and comforting whispers. In the shouted goodbyes and desperate, embracing farewells. In the bellowing laughs and the joyful tears. In the moments between each moment is where the love lies.
The love in "I love you" can be drained in many ways. The meaning can be bled out in the guilt tripping and gas lighting after a spiraling argument over boiling pots and dirty countertops. The feeling is lost in the wordy and baseless reassurances of a stranger. The authenticity is wasted on ecstasy-induced slurred-soliloquy confessions of lust at a highschool party. Overuse and neglect have left the words to be discarded like a euthanized pet in a dumpster.
Where does the love in "I love you" go? Is it hidden in the contracts of 782,038 divorced couples? Chained in legality and bound by regret. Did it load its pockets with unskipped rocks and wade into the coldest ocean? Drowned and waterlogged under gallons of salty tears. Maybe it's buried in the forgotten presents under a Christmas tree abandoned by hastily exiting families. The love is frozen in kind worded gift cards and burned to ash in the hard stares at the young couple holding hands across the dining room table. The long driveway filled with slush soaks the love into mush, and it watches as the car pulls away. Never to return.
People say "I love you" doesn't carry any weight. That it's a tumbleweed of dried hopes and skin deep promises. They would be right. The words don't hold emotion. Love is not found in words. Love is found in the heart.
In the hearts that beat in the silent drive home. In the soft sighs and half asleep mumblings about the day. Moonlight shines through trees into windows dancing patterns across the bare backseat. The grumbling engine and tick-ticking turn signal frame the soft smiles passed across the dashboard casting warmth to push the chill of night away. Cars move past, tapping fingers echo in the muted cabin, eyes slip shut. Gentle hands shake shoulders awake and greatful yawns wave goodnight from under a single porchlight. Not a breath of "I love you" leaves their lips.
Love is not in words. Love is in the humming swirled with the smell of pancakes floating up the steps and into a child's bedroom. In the peaceful sanctuary found wrapped in the arms of a friend. In the crests and wanes of conversation and joking arguments. In squeezed hands and small nods. In the screamed karaoke soundtrack of radio pop hits from 2010 and the dollar store disco balls radiating rainbow light. In the shared fries, chips, and icecream cones. In unspoken, unbreaking trust. In the breathy chuckles and comforting whispers. In the shouted goodbyes and desperate, embracing farewells. In the bellowing laughs and the joyful tears. In the moments between each moment is where the love lies.
Willow Pawlisch is a sophomore attending a small high school in Wisconsin.