January 30, 2016
Draft Four
“I love you.” It’s such a small—yet incredibly complex phrase. The ancient Greeks probably understood love the best in the world, creating several words to describe the different types of love.
Agape, an unconditional, self-sacrificing respect for everyone.
Eros. Passion. Romance, and erotic attraction.
Then there’s storge, a familial, parental feeling of empathy.
And finally, philia. Affection and friendship between equals.
“I love you.”
There was once a person to whom I would frequent those words. We shared everything together: sorrows and joys; ideas and secrets; days, months and years. Struggles. A lot of struggles. Tears. Fears. Dreams and aspirations. Smiles, gestures and words—like “I love you”.
We planned our lives together, working out compromises to our incompatible goals and desires. Simple things: she wanted one child and I three, so we settled in the middle at two. We were even working on more complicated topics—get a dog, or a cat? That was still in debate when the tempest struck.
I realized that our plans and dreams did not, could not fully overlap yet. As I took a step back from the relationship, I noticed that she was giving up some of her dreams to fit her life in mine, just as I did for her. But if we both dismissed everything we wanted in life, it was clear that neither of us would ever be truly fulfilled.
One day at college, we met in between classes. She looked at me with eyes clouded with pain and confusion.
“We need to talk.”
She pulled the words right off my tongue, but it was that fearsome look that concerned me. We met in the commons later that day. She had come to the same realization that I had, requesting to break off the relationship.
“Friends?”
“Of course.”
We met that day as a couple, and left as siblings with an even stronger bond. The ancient Greeks figured out what love it. I think we did, too.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Draft Three
There was once a person in my life to whom
I would frequent these words:
“I love you.”
We shared everything:
Sorrows and joys,
Ideas, secrets, struggles,
Smiles, tears, words,
Days, months. Years…
We planned our lives together,
Compromising our dreams and goals:
Simple things:
She wanted one child,
But I preferred three.
We decided on the mean, two.
And complicated, serious issues:
Should we get a dog—or a cat?
At a certain point, I realized
My plans for life did not—
Could not overlap, not yet.
My desires held her back,
Suppressed her potential.
We met at college in the commons,
Where she said, “We need to talk,”
As though reading the words on my tongue.
She requested we break off the relationship.
Understanding that her aspirations
Conflicted with mine, that together
Neither of us could fulfill ourselves,
She came to me nearly in tears…
But she did not cry out of fear—
The ending relationship was a necessity—
We could both see that.
Instead, she told me that she was afraid
Our bond would be broken,
She would lose me as a friend.
After everything we had been through together,
I told her I would always be there. Why?
It’s simple.
“I love you.”
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Draft Two
“I love you.” It’s such a small—yet incredibly complex phrase. The ancient Greeks understood love probably the best in the world, creating several different words to describe the different types of love. Agape, an unconditional, self-sacrificing respect for everyone. Eros, passion, romance, erotic attraction. Then there’s storge, a familial, parental feeling of empathy. And finally, philia. Affection. Friendship between equals.
“I love you.”
There was once a person to whom I would frequent those words. We shared everything together: sorrows and joys; ideas and secrets; days, months and years. Struggles, smiles, tears. Words—like “I love you”.
We planned our lives together, working out compromises to our different goals and desires. Simple things, like balancing our desires of one and three children with the average of two, and even on to more complicated topics—get a dog, or a cat? That was still in debate when everything hit us.
I realized that our plans—our dreams—did not, could not fully overlap yet. As I took a step back from the relationship, it was evident that she was giving up some of her dreams to fit her life in mine, just as I did for her. But if we both gave up on everything we wanted in life, it was clear that neither of us would ever be truly fulfilled.
One day at college, we met in between classes. She looked at me with eyes clouded with pain and confusion.
“We need to talk.”
She pulled the words right off my tongue, but it was that fearsome look that concerned me. We met in the commons later that day. She had come to the same realization that I had, requesting to break off the relationship.
“Friends?”
“Of course.”
We met that day as a couple, and left as siblings with an even greater bond. The ancient Greeks figured out what love it. I think we did, too.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
Draft One
“I love you.”
A simple phrase with many connotations.
The Greeks had it figured out:
Agape — unconditional respect for all.
Eros — romance, erotic attraction.
Storge — empathy: familial, parental.
Philia — affection, friendship between equals.
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
There was once a person in my life
To whom I would frequent those words.
“I love you.”
Shared sorrows, shared joys.
Ideas, secrets, struggles,
Days, months, years,
Smiles, tears, words.
“I love you.”
The hardest moments in life are easier
When you’re not alone.
We planned our lives together,
Each conceding details, dreams, goals until
We arrived at an amenable compromise.
Then it happened.
I realized that my plans for life
And hers did not overlap, not yet.
I was holding her back,
Suppressing her potential.
The hardest moments in life are easier
When you’re not alone.
“I love you.”
We met in the campus commons.
She said, “We need to talk.”
Pulled the words right off my tongue.
She realized she was holding me back.
“I love you.”
The Greeks figured out what love is.
I think we did, too.