How I remember love

on chocolates and nightmares

My favorite word is love.

I’ve known it as the taste of ice cream. A locked larder full of sugar with a hidden key in the room. An insatiable craving, filling my belly but never my soul. I’ve known it since gaining 30 kgs before realizing chocolates can’t replace a person. I’ve known it as a door through which my father left, never looking back.

I’ve known it as a butterfly perched on my hand. A dog cuddled by my side. A warm light in my home when my mother was happy and a ghostly darkness when she was not. I’ve known it as terror from being locked in the bathroom. The masks I have worn to always stay beautiful in her eyes.

I’ve known it from how I learned to say my favorite color is black when it was always blue. The gentle sound of rain tapping on a tinned roof. Hands reaching to love, comfort, or choke me. I’ve known it as a nightmare breathing down my neck. The way my body still yearns and flinches from its touch.

My favorite word is love because I’ve known it deeply, in all its shades and moods. It’s familiar, predictable, even when it terrifies. And sometimes, it is so goddamn beautiful.

---