Love Is...

What is it to be in love? What is love?

First, let’s define love… (It could be looooong if I don't draw some boundaries.)

My Facebook status one-day simply requested to know; Love Is...

And some of the responses were such…

LOVE IS… Feeling giddy inside. LOVE IS… A Verb

LOVE IS… Like a Rollercoaster. LOVE IS… Action

LOVE IS… Decision LOVE IS… Passion

LOVE IS… Blind. LOVE IS… Family

LOVE IS… Trust. LOVE IS… Respect

LOVE IS… Kind and patient and shouldn’t hurt

LOVE IS… Sickening

My personal favorites:

LOVE IS… The absence of judgment

LOVE IS… The sum of our choices, the strength of our commitments, the ties that bind us together.

It is synonymously all these things at once.

By definition as per Miriam-Webster Dictionary it is both and noun and a verb.

love noun /ˈləv

attraction based on sexual desire : affection and tenderness felt by lovers

love verb/ˈləv

: to hold dear : CHERISH

FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS POST I'M GOING TO TAKE SOME LIBERTIES AND MAKE MY OWN DEFINITION .

To be in love is to hold someone dear or have affection for someone based on sexual desire. In my mind’s eye it is the perfect balance of eros and philia.

Oh yea... That love! The dreamy— In love type of love.

In life, I have had more examples of what love is not than what love is. But still, I feel qualified to make some assumptions. Shucks, I write about love everyday. I mean, I've been there at least once. Completely sure of it. And I say once because I know that this wasn't unrequited.

To this day I can remember the day that it happened. He was inside me, working us both through some intimate moments. My eyes were closed tight, I was working something out in my head, trying to enjoy it. He was coaxing me, easing my discomfort. We had already kissed about a month before and that was more intimate than sex to me at the time. And possibly had sex a couple times but I wasn't sold on him. And he was decent. I had never met anyone like him. So anyway, he said, “Open your eyes,” as he stroked. “Open you eyes and look at me.” His one hand searched mine out and pinned it over my head and I still hadn’t cracked an eyelid. I was afraid. Afraid of exactly what would happened when I did. He whispered, “Open your eyes”, again. I did and I was lost. My heart lost to him in the moment his brown eyes pierced my soul through the darkness. No man had ever wanted to connect with me in that way. It was as if he SAW me. Right through me, inside me; to my core. That he was pulling out everything I’d attempted to hide. Speechless, I broke the stare with a kiss as a tear slipped from my eyes. I was unnerved for about a week because I understood what that meant. I loved him. I certainly didn’t tell him. Not at first and then one day out of the blue, he says it and I was taken aback. Caught off guard. Even more caught off guard, it slipped out my mouth quickly as the response.

The relationship didn’t work but the love I felt in the good times of it was magical. I was cherished, protected, and above all, I felt loved. Inside and out.

When I create and craft “love” between my characters, I ultimately aim to have them feel amazingly wonderful every single second. That is the intention but LOVE doesn't always listen. Doesn’t always behave. Doesn’t always communicate. Does not inherently understand or accept everything initially. More often than not, it flagrantly wants what it wants. Demands more than we ever thought we wanted to give. It pulls out emotions until we are raw and exposed. Then it soothes, it heals, it shields, it grows, it lightens, it elevates, it inspires.

In many cases it can be an instant attraction, it can start with the slow burn or the broken boundaries friends cross to become lovers.

New Project: LOVE IS... (coming soon) excerpt below.

Tyree didn't know what love was until Briannah showed him. Will he remember that?

June 2014

“Moooooooom!” Eight-year-old Tyree exclaimed when reality of what was going on around him set in. His mother, Layla was being wheeled from their house in a stretcher. He had found her semi-conscious, reeking from the stench of alcohol seeping from her pores. She dressed in a one-piece white linen short set that was stained yellow around the neck from her sweat and three days of wearing. She seemed to be stuck to the plastic covered red crush velvet sofa, Tyree recalled as the memory became real. He remembered his young heart was beating so fast as he ran through the house to find his grandmother who’d been in the kitchen cooking Sunday dinner. He had almost knocked her down as he tripped on the laces of the church shoes, he hadn’t been patient enough to remove when his mother had appeared unexpectedly after being missing for days.

“It’s my mom,” he panted as the older woman in her late forties captured him. “Something is wrong! Call the police!” He shouted loudly, gasping for air. It was an indescribable anxiety that made him out of breath. The mature part of him had known what he’d been witnessing. This last year had been nothing but a downward spiral. Hadn’t he'd seen it before? Her completely tired of running and passed out, barely there. Dead to the world. But she had promised that she was through with that life. Through with all of it. She had even cried and rocked him in her arms, sputtering tears streaming the last time she'd seen him. Practically praying over him, promising that she was going to make a family with him and Zah. That she'd finally reveal his father's identity. It was all bullshit.

And even though he understood that, he also knew that she needed help. “Granma, call the ambalance.” He pulled at her as Tonya made her way down the hallway, dragging him in tow.

“Lay. Layla,” she called out as she approached. “Oooooh, Laylaaaaa,” she let out a shriek as she saw Layla all but lifeless on the couch. “Get the phone, Ty. Get the phone, boy.” He recalled the look of fear in her glassy cinnamon eyes as they pooled with tears.

She was leaning over Layla’s body when he’d returned with the square rotary phone from the hallway mail table. Checking for a pulse at her wrist and then at her neck. Tonya bent over Layla to lay her head on her daughter’s chest, checking for a heartbeat. She gripped the phone from his hands. “Gone run and get Niecy from next door tell’a I need help.”

He was frozen. Couldn't get his feet to listen to his brain to register the move. “NOW!” She barked bringing out of his momentary trance. “Your mamma gonna be alright, Tyree but she needs you to be a man and go get her some help,” she added switching her attention back to her daughter who moaned out in agony.

But she hadn't been okay. She died a week later from an overdose the day she'd been released from the hospital.

Restless, Tyree’s eyes dragged themselves open. Blinking as they adjusted to the darkness then he silently stared at the space over their bed. Briannah was sleeping sound beside him. Or so he thought. And as if on cue, she stirred, rolling over to curl her lithe warm body into his and sleepily murmured, “Are you okay?”

As Bri snuggled in closely, Tyree kissed her forehead and adjusted his body to bear the weight of her as she snaked her long arm around his waist, laid her head on his chest. Tyree cleared his throat and let the words he assumed she wanted to hear fall from his lips. “I'm cool, Babe. Go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure. You've been tossing and turning all night,” she sighed.

I don’t know who I am and it's drowning me. “Babe, I'm a'ight. You go ‘head and get some sleep.”

It took almost twenty minutes for her to drift but he waited until she was snoring and drooling onto his chest before Tyree made a move. Even then she clutched him to her. “Damn, Bri. I just gotta take a piss,” he quietly assured her.

His wife, Tyree reflected as he untangled himself from her, was fiercely protective. Her heart intuitive to his heart’s anguish. He loved that about her. Loved that she would fight anyone and everything for them. He prayed that she was prepared for what was coming. Just in case she had to.

Strangling fingers of his past were tiptoeing along the edges of their happiness, threatening to choke the life from it. He would do whatever was required for his family to remain safe and whole. The last six months had been a disaster and God didn’t seem like He was giving out any passes. There was a lot on his mind. Issues weighted heavily on his heart and things he had absolutely no control over forced to wreak havoc.

The dreams of his mother were brought on by a revelation that turned his life upside down. The man he'd spent his entire life idolizing, respecting, and loving had been the one person in the world who was least deserving of it. His father. His uncle Darien was his father. His biological father. DNA testing proved that. He still remembered the day ten years prior when he'd been man enough to flat out ask him if he were.

There had been so much fear and anxiety leading up to the moment. He was relieved when Darien said that he wasn't. That although him and Layla had been intimate after his marriage to Tyree's aunt Nicole, that he could attest with absolute certainty that he wasn't his father. The he man had looked him dead in the eyes; the same eyes as his and lied to his face. Darien revealed in the letter he'd written that he'd lied initially because Layla had told him it wasn't. And it wasn't until right before she died that she’d admitted the truth of it. Layla was manic and wanted him to leave Nicole and the family they’d built to share one with her. He said, he'd almost considered it but at the last minute changed his mind. Said he turned her away because it was too late for them. And in anger and hate, she'd spurned him and told him never to tell anyone the truth about what she’d revealed. Dairen had agreed to keep their secret and no more than a month later she was gone.

Gone from him. Gone from his sister. Gone from life forever.

Fuuuck! The people who were automatically supposed to love him cared about nothing but themselves.