I’m trying to put it into words. The happiness that comes from loving. From being loved back. And I don’t mean romantically. I mean the simple act of being in love with your friends. The people who we choose to fill our days with. The type of love which is so simple. So nondescript. Immemorable. But the absence of which is so large.
Because it’s those seemingly immemorable moments that make up a life. Making each other cups of tea and knowing how they like it. Days spent not doing anything in particular, just existing in each others company.
Or spontaneous movie nights, filled with whispers and giggles. Laughter that has been pent up as the credits roll. Making dinners, with one person doing the groceries if the others will do the dishes. That basic act of eating a meal together. Laughing and sharing stories, while picking off each others plates.
It’s something that almost defies explanation. Definition. But, ultimately, it’s in those moments that you feel it. That perfect sense of content mixed with happiness mixed with comfort.
Because those moments of togetherness, in the most commonplace of ways, is the difference. Between just existing. And being in love.