It’s funny that three words, comprised of only eight
letters, can hold so much meaning.
It’s also funny that those same three words, comprised of
only eight letters, can strike immense fear into our hearts upon their
utterance. But why? “I love you” is an outward manifestation of a
glorious and redeeming absolute--an attempt to make the intangible construct of
love concrete, by allowing its release through our voice boxes. Why would we even begin to fear something
that so strongly has the power to unite and heal?
My friends from home, who I can now say I love dearly, were
always big on saying “I love you,” and their ever-so-casual utterance always
seemed to hit me funnily and make me a bit uncomfortable. I’d reciprocate the sentiment quickly, rather
ashamed, for whatever reason. To me,
those words held greater meaning than what they were investing in it, or in
hindsight, perhaps I felt those words held greater meaning than to be invested
in me. But over the years, I happily assimilated into this culture of “I love
you,” while still managing to retain a slight sense of discomfort when saying
it to them--or anyone for that matter.
Just two weeks ago, when visiting my Grandma, someone who
has known me from day one, I found that I had so much to say to her. I wanted to convey my appreciation for her
efforts and sacrifices towards my betterment.
I wanted to tell her I loved her and appreciated her, but I didn’t know
how. I knew that the moment I opened my
mouth, fear would take over and my words that come out so seamlessly when
inscribed on paper, would crumble into a series of two- or three-word
sputterings. So I wrote her a letter, so
my words could take shape--so I could tell her just how much I loved her.
She and my grandpa were together for almost sixty
years. They shared “love” in every sense
of the word. They invested every part of
their being in each other--their positive qualities, their forgettable routine
tendencies, their seemingly unlovable faults.
They accepted and appreciated each other, even when Grandpa was picky
about his food or Grandma took too long to make decisions. In each other, they found a confidant and
best friend to fall back on. And it is because
of them that I know true, unconditional love exists. It is because of them that I can feel love’s
palpable pulse in every sect of my life.
And, perhaps, it is because of them that I believe those three words
should be reserved only for those who have profoundly impacted us.
I feel more comfortable saying it to my friends now, not
only because I truly do feel love and trust for them, but because they have
profoundly impacted this current version of myself. Their impact will be felt for the eternity of
my existence, and nothing they do will ever change that. That’s love.
And in my mind, those three little words, comprised of only
eight letters, hold much more meaning than the average person bestows upon
them. They some how combine together to
form a universal unit of meaning that transcends time and the physical
world. Saying “I love you” releases all
shame, and communicates ultimate vulnerability.
It is the last piece of yourself that you can give away. It’s an entirely nonrefundable investment, a
final utterance that releases all control.
It’s the passing along of your heart, which becomes entirely at the
mercy of another person’s conscience and intentions.
But I think the biggest reason it is so terrifying to say is
because we want to hear it back. We
crave the reciprocated sentiment; we revel in the feeling of being loved by
someone we love. Not receiving this
sentiment in return only gives way to a greater loss of control, a heightened
sense of vulnerability, which is precisely why we shouldn’t take these words
too lightly, why we should only say it when we truly mean it, and why we should
only utter this phrase selflessly, only when we are willing to give without the
prospect of receipt.
So perhaps I’m scared to say it because I won’t receive it
in return. Or perhaps I’m scared to say it
because of its finality. Or maybe I’m
scared to say it because I will
receive it in return, that someone will invest that same fragile trust in me, and that it could so quickly be shattered as easily as it was transferred.