real.

I was milling about Facebook at lunch and chanced upon "Does anyone know what love really is??" on a discussion board. I thought about it for a bit and posted a reply. I'm not all sure if love is wordly describable. I want to say I know what love is, like really really really know. I think I do, but I don't know with absolute certainty. After all, I'm only closing in on a quarter of a century. There's supposed to be so much more to live and experience.

In this chapter of my book, love is simple - no complications, it just is.

I love my Daddy intrinsically even though I know I couldn't live with him. I love him because I do and I'll never know how to not. We might disagree, grumble, be completely apart but he's with me, he's my Daddy.

I love my Timmy because I've grown to. It wasn't *BAM!* I'm in love, more "this feels right", and "could it be?" Timmeh seems to be what I need. Stuff like challenge and support, frustration and encouragment, smiles and frowns. I'm learning him, and wearing my heart on my sleeve. I'm happy. We're a work in progress, and big picture, I like the way we work.

I love my teddys. They're always there for me. No cuddle too long, never too many tears, or too long an absence.

I love Tiggy because he's nutty, he's bouncy, he's a jingle-bot.

I love reading because I get to go away.

I love me. In spite of being a complete "but-face" when I'm talking about me, I've learnt to begin to love me proper again. I'm not perfect even though I want to be. I'll one day soon look the way I want to - I'm convinced I have at least 8kg of pure unadulterated fat to muush off my chubby yummy body. I'm not stupid, but I love that I embrace my dorky goodness.

The rest is all meta. Sure there are comforts. I enjoy my comforts. I relish my comforts. I want more, more to bask in, more to have. Big picture though, it all fades to nothing. There's what I love, and there's all else.

Me, love is what matters.