This Is How You’re Allowed To Love
By Kim Quindlen
It can be sudden. It can take forever. You can fall instantly or you can fall slowly, growing to love each and every weird little quirk in the other person in a rhythm that suits your heart. You can love quietly or you can love loudly, keeping the secret between you and your person or not giving a shit if the entire world knows how you feel.
It can feel weird, to suddenly realize that you feel a physical ache within your body when you’re not around them. Or it can feel natural, like this is the sort of incredible discomfort that you’ve been waiting to feel your entire life.
You can feel scared and exhilarated and painfully joyful, all at the same time. You can feel completely overwhelmed with all the terrifying ways that this thing could go south, but to barely have time to care because you’re too busy feeling the blood pump animatedly and happily through your veins.
You can love patiently, watching your feelings build with strength every single day, every single time you spend even a moment around them.
You can love feverishly, like you don’t have time to watch your feelings build because you’re too busy trying to rein them in, in order to gain some semblance of sanity.
You can love generously, like your heart is going to burst if you don’t find some way to open the floodgates and allow your feelings to pour into someone else’s being.
You can love someone who is the same as you. You can love someone who is different from you in every way.
You can love someone who your parents welcome with open arms. You can love someone who your parents don’t approve of, simply because they can’t let go of the idea that love must look a certain way.
You can love someone who annoys you, you can love someone who inspires you, you can love someone who scares you because of the way that they challenge you to be better every single day.
You can open yourself up all at once. You can do it slowly. You can reveal yourself the moment you meet them. You can reveal yourself piece by piece.
You can be unsure of where this is going to go. You can be nervous about that. And you can love anyway, because the torture of not knowing what could have been is more painful than getting hurt.
You can feel anxious and silly and light, stupid and excited and happy, alive and terrified and uncertain. And you don’t have to explain these contradictory feelings to anyone. Because this is how you love, and love rarely makes any sense whatsoever. So love however the hell you want.