Tuesday, February 17, 2015

All Of The Loves

I've long held the belief that there are no grades of love, no fine divisions along some continuous or discrete scale that might make it easier to say we love our lovers better than our friends or our children better than our parents, except the middle child, because (of course) children have an order, too.

For me, love has always been black or white, yes or no, on or off. But I suspect that many (or perhaps most) people don't see it that way. Many people seem to love their lovers better than their dear friends, better than their families, better than other friends, acquaintances, strangers, and so on.

But I believe in only the presence or absence of love. Any evidence that could be interpreted otherwise is the result of other emotions working their way in and making themselves heard—perhaps desire, or protectiveness, or grief.

Now I have the tiniest snippet of evidence!

Tonight I caught up with one of my dearest friends, whom I've known for over twenty years, at a gig. His face broke into a big grin when I walked in and later when I started the applause, and I reciprocated. I love him. That is simple. Why pollute it with a type? My relationship with him is friend, but I don't believe that is a type of love.

Some time later a couple of men at the next table bet he was my 'squeeze'. When they moved on and were replaced by another two, they asked if we were siblings. 

None of these things are true, yet people saw them. The one thing I can say for certain is they recognised something, despite interpreting it differently. Were they perhaps projecting their own expectations onto my emotions, adding something themselves to fill in he gap and complete the story? Perhaps not, but I think it's plausible.
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