What Is This Feeling, If Not Love?

I fall in love. Often. All the time.

Not just with the usual suspects: film, music, books...but people. Strangers across the street, brief acquaintances, friends. And I don’t mean it in the conventional sense. The way I experience this concept has always been difficult to put into words.

Here’s me trying to do that.

Let’s start with the basics, because from there, you’ll see how messy things get. I’ve tried every label for my romantic inclinations (or lack thereof) I’ve found.

Gay? But I like girls. Bi? Pan? Folks who’ve never labeled themselves appeal to me, yes...but these descriptors never fit right. Ace? Aro? Aro-ace? That may work, but how do I explain the heart palpitations?

Do you see what I mean? The further I attempt to narrow down, the more confused I feel. The only thing I know for certain surrounding all this is I’m queer. And proud of it.

And the other thing with choosing a label...is I don’t think what I feel is romantic love. I’m in my early twenties, and have I ever been kissed? Gone on a date? Had a relationship? Never. When I imagine the inevitable end and ponder if nothing on that front occurs...I don’t regret it.

Yet I still appreciate beauty in folks. All the time. Almost every day.

Ironic, isn’t it? My greatest passion is the written word, yet I can’t find a single one to describe these feelings. That’s the thing, though. Maybe I don’t need to.

If I describe it to you, perhaps, at last, I might understand it myself.

When I consider you a friend, even if we only knew each other for a few weeks, it’s almost a guarantee I think of you fondly, and often. The smallest esoteric things remind me of you. I treasure your eccentricities, your idiosyncratic lexicon, the tiny details no one else notices.

You, even in a tiny way, have made me who I am today. Brought out something I never could’ve imagined, recommended something I would’ve discovered otherwise. Changing my life for the better, even if it was only in that one interaction.

Can you see why, as I flail for words, I keep coming back to this concept?

What is this feeling, if not love?

And yet, in admitting this, I struggle. If you combine my strange vulnerabilities, a recursive, damaging storyline of forever being ‘too much’ with this deep-seated fear of the faceless opinionated public, it’s a difficult thing to reveal, or explain.

It’s not romantic love, at least in the way society thinks of it. It took me a long time to realize I have no interest. Yes, I want long-lasting relationships, co-inhabitants of the same living space, that elusive found family every lonely queer kid dreams of. But I want nothing more.

And at long last, I realize that’s not a bad thing. That’s just who I am.

I feel things. There’s no way around that. I think until the very concept of the act itself falls apart, even when I try not to. I’m overwhelmed by the world’s haunting beauty almost daily.

And in that sublime ridiculousness...perhaps it’s where I can find my strength.

I don’t have to justify my existence. Knowing I’m here, queer, and willing to love is enough.

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