Have you ever been asked how you would describe a sunset to a person born blind? It seems an impossible question and an impossible task. How do you help someone to see a sunset when they do not see? I think there is a way to do it, kind of, because you can read a book and imagine a place or person you have never seen on account of the author's descriptions. There is still the issue of explaining something seen to someone who has never had that faculty but if you love a sunset and you love that person, I bet you could do it, you humans. I bet you could do it.
Except.
Now the issue is the love. For me, that is the problem because people are always talking about love and I know there are things I love; I think there are people I love, but I don't know what that is supposed to feel like. Is it warm or cold or like stomach cramps or dizziness or what? When someone loves me, how should it make me feel? Warm, cold, full of stomach cramps?
There is not one sound definition of love. It is too dependent on people who are delicate variables. It means something different to all the humans and the responses you get always come down to: you'll know it when you feel it. Which puts me back at square one, blind, standing in front of a sunset, awash in descriptions, but not truly understanding the words well enough to envision the sky.
What I know right now is that there is someone I think I love who all evidence points to loves me back but since I don't know what that should be making me feel just leaves me feeling confused. The confusion makes me feel like I don't have love because I didn't think a love symptom was confusion. But maybe is. I know that I want to feel confident that they love me back. I hope that they do. I hope to one day see.
Me
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