In Defense of True Love

With three friends getting engaged just this weekend, I decided to write an open letter to all the couples I know ... in defense of true love. 

Photo Credit: Daniel Tate

I saw the ring.

I saw the hope, brighter than your diamond, flash out at him; at the world; at me. No, it was something deeper than hope.

Love.
True love.

People don't believe in true love anymore and I lose my patience--what little patience I had to begin with--for these so-called realists. Those people--the embittered, jaded souls that they are--don't believe in true love because I guess they've never learned all of its pieces.

I've never known what it is to share that connection with another person, to let my soul entwine ivy-wise with theirs till the slightest tug hurts like fractured bone. I've never known what it is to live in dread of dread ... to lie awake at night worrying that the one my soul loves will be worrying: a mutual incapacity to think of anything apart from what that person might think of the thing in question.

I've never known it but I have seen it. Seen it in people like you. So I believe in true love because you've taught me. And those who don't believe in it? Can't believe in it? They just don't realize that true love hides under the nettle-leaf of a thousand courtesies.

To see a cup of water in the night, given by a clumsy, sleep-drugged hand, they call kindness.

They see you give up your own identity, that name which had been yours since birth, and bind yourself with a round silver promise to another human. You take his name and his heart and they call it a ceremony.
He fixes the brakes on your car and they call it a "to-do list".
They see the cup of coffee he made just perfectly and they wonder aloud why it wasn't a dozen red roses instead.
They see you lose a heated argument and let him have the last word and cry tears of hot release by yourself as you drive to the grocery store and they call it proof that the charm of your chemistry has faded; they don't realize that love, like any living thing, needs buffeting to set down roots.
In a moment of breathless, faithless crisis--a moment when he doesn't show a sliver of the infatuation he lavishes now, a moment when life has become like Sinai's forty years-those realists will draw close and whisper poison-wise,
"See? His love wasn't true love. Go on and leave and look for it elsewhere."
They don't see that the greatest material of which true love is knit is commitment and tenacity.
Your everyday choice to do his laundry, his bills, to share his interests, his people, his bed ... they name it "routine" and scorn it as they scorn the goodbye hug and "I'm headed home" calls.
They dub your patience "being used to him" and his quick out-the-door kisses "absentminded."
And those times he makes you laugh till your sides hurt and mascara inks your tears they'll call "good days" as if all the days between had ignoble titles.

They mean well, I guess, in their worldly-wise, weary-boned way ... but they can't know it is true love. They don't see that the service, the ceremony, the coffee and car-repairs and arguments and desert-treks, the routines and familiarity and absentminded kisses and "good days" ... these are the truth in the thing we call true love.

True love as I see it, as you've shown it, is a breaking yourself in half and giving that piece over, a breaking of one into two, a fitting of two into one: two lives, two souls, two personalities and wills and throbbing hearts. To make this love work, one must be malleable and able to fold in a thousand pieces, to build pieces on a thousand pieces to become whole again. A constant breaking, a constant healing, a constant no-longer-me-and-you but 'us'.

A thing without a name--those thousand pieces--are soon forgotten, disbanded, dissolved. The realists stole the name and cast it to the four winds and they can no longer see. So bind yourself under one name with a promise, call what you have by its name: true love. Defy the realists and better yet, teach them to see the beauty of your threads as you weave them day by day by live-long day.

I saw the ring.

I saw the defiance.

It made me smile and hope.