I always thought that those three words, I love you, were the hinge upon which love rested.
Without them, it was absent – and so I’ve spent a lifetime sprinkling those words in conversations, written at the end of letters, and slipped into hugs goodbye.
And there’s nothing wrong with those words. They are beautiful, and truthful, and carry a heart of meaning. But I wonder if maybe we spend so much time waiting for someone to tell us they love us –
when they’ve already shown us. And we’re so busy listening that we forget to see, too.
Love was never meant to be relegated to three words. It was always meant to be a life lived sacrificed.
Love is devoid of meaning if there is no action. Words only tell us so much – but a life lived sacrificed teaches us that love is found in spite of and because of
those three words.
It shows up when one drives an hour to bring you the spare keys.
It’s found in the embrace of holding close enough so that your tears mix with theirs.
And it’s found when laughter intermingles with your own, because joy is best felt when its shared.
I wonder if love is best received with hands held open – rather than waiting for those three words. Because maybe then we’ll realize that life is one big love story,
and there will always be enough love,
with or without those three words.