Saying I Love You

by tyson moore

As a young man I threw the word around effortlessly, like most young men do. I meant it as I understood it every time it was first said to a person. I am sure they meant it, as they understood it, every time they said it to me. After a million times it lost the original value. It was like the first time I ate Mediterranean food versus eating it now. It still feels good, but it is not the same. Looking back, there are dishes of hummus and tabouli that fell under par, although still wonderful. I said I loved them at the time. I appreciated them for the delicacy they are. I even liked them more than a simple hamburger. In the grand scheme of dining they were better than most. I did not love them. Looking back, even at my first time, there is only one Lebanese restaurant that has ever captured my heart above and beyond all the rest. I made uncontrollable sounds of enjoyment while eating their tatziki coated schwarmas, the hummus had the right amount of spice on top, and even the baba ganoush made me lick my chops. I can safely say that I loved their food.

Before you get all women’s lib and pointing of the misogynist finger at me, I am not comparing my sex life to food. In that arena I would not feast at any old greasy spoon. I am, however, talking about something you whatever so much that you would say you love it. Do you mean it? Did I? Aristotle talks about the different types of love from filial or brotherly to romantic. We all know the difference. I am not going into that. Saying “I Love You” to our parents and to our partners is a different form of the same emotion with different actions and expectations to express it. I told my first lover that I loved her. I did. I had never experienced that emotion in that way to that degree ever in my life. My next lover I did not love as much, but I told her anyway. It compared. I categorized it as the same. Since, I have had lovers that I loved more, and lovers that I loved much less. Looking back, there are few that I can still say that I truly loved in the romantic sense and possibly still do. Isn’t true love timeless?

There are also close friends that I inform of my love on a regular basis, which is where my questioning of love arises. With my futureless degree in Philosophy I examined my world under a cultural microscope. My university focused primarily on the analytic side of philosophy, meaning a heavy dosing of the jargon published philosophers use. When applied to vague concepts like that of “love” it spans into nonsensical realms. Words lose meaning when there are better words to describe them. Then, my creative side further interferes with this dissection of language. I like to use words with one social connotation to incorrectly describe something else. Hopefully, the reader sees through the trickery to agree with the usage. This lifestyle has made me wary and weary of words without action, especially in the concerns of love.

Many relationships vocally profess their love for each other at any transitional moment. They leave each other’s company. “I Love You.” They go to sleep at night. “I Love You.” They have sex. “I Love You.” They walk in the park. “I Love You.” They make up from a fight. “I Love You.” Sometimes in the middle of a fight. “I Love You.” Like those Holiday Christians they water the sentiment down. Over and over repetition brings down the property value of love. I quit saying it all together until I remembered what it really was. I hesitate when I say it to make sure that it is for real. Sure, it slips out because it is nonsensically all around me and I have to internally debate if it was the truth. I justify it and make it right within myself like a good socially disaffected American would.

There is heavy weight applied to a word like “love” when combined with specific social situations. I realized these expectations, which is what makes me hesitant, but I never considered the situations necessary for the over empowerment of the word until just the other day.

When it comes to intimate sexual relationships, I am hypersensitive to the blasé saying of “I Love You.” If it is too soon when it is said, the relationship could very well be cut short. The partner could be too willing to put their heart on the line and may expect the other to thrust their’s out there without thinking of consequence. Life experience has taught me not to be that way. I am jaded. Bad lamb wrapped in pita bread has given me food poisoning. Too much ice cream left me doubled over in lactose intolerant cramps. I am no longer as quick to say I love that Demazi buffet. But when a friend of mine grinds the chick peas down from scratch and adds just enough garlic with the olive oil, I know there is love mixed into the recipe. I will gladly tell them so without a second thought. Just the other day I did have to think twice.

I have developed a romantic entanglement with a person who has been a friend of mine for more than seven years. She is the sister of a friend that I am happy to regularly inform of my love. That friend considers our love to be like siblings of choice, which I would agree. I have even told the sister of the friend that I love her in a different capacity than the hot and heavy steamy kind. Honestly, I have always valued that type of love more than the intimate kissing kind. There is a different expectation at a much more comfortable and reasonable level. It can be worthwhile to have an intimate sexual relationship with someone who is a good friend. The risks of what can be lost is greater; however, the rewards are much more satisfying.

Just the other day the sister of my sister reheated some leftover ravioli because I was hungry. There was not enough sauce for a bowl. She whipped some together with parmesan cheese and chicken bits while the noodles spun around in the microwave. It was really good. I loved it. I loved her for making it. I almost told her. A moment before my lips could utter the phrase, this entire essay ran through my mind. It stopped me cold in confusion with my rationality. Being nihilistic in the true sense of the word, rather than the pop sense of nonbelief, I amended my system based upon new data. The moment passed. I stayed silent. It would have been awkward to tell her then. I told her later.

Thankfully, our dialogue as friends has remained intact with an addition to the type of dialogue allowed. Many years ago we lay in bed talking of far reaching ideas. Now, we can do that naked with more frequency. She agreed with my assumptions of the word and the usage as well as the social situations that imply something different than others. I am not sure if I love her in one way right now. She is not sure is she loves me in that way either. At the same time we are both sure that we love each other in another way that is acceptable to feel at this point in our seven year friendship. I hope to never lose that love no matter what happens with the other type.