It is 2am outside a crowded bar in the freezing cold and I am screaming at you as you stumble across the street.

Bystanders gawk at what they have mistaken as a petty alcohol induced dispute. Little do they know this is a public display of affection.

Because love is not a list of pretty sounding verbs, but a measure of intensity. Fist fights can feel like making love if they’re between people who have held each other in hospital rooms. Swear words can sound like love letters when exchanged between friends who have talked each other off ledges.

“Get out of the fucking road you idiot,” actually means, “please be safe, you have suffered enough.”

Just like “what the fuck is wrong with you, get back here” is synonymous with “the stars aligned so that we could exist in this moment together, please do not leave.”

And “I can’t fucking stand you right now,” directly translates to, “my anger is feeble and fleeting compared to the persistence and certainty of my love for you. Thank you for trusting me enough to love you completely.”

Of course it is easy for you to get under my skin when you already reside in my heart.

It is 2am outside a crowded bar in the freezing cold and we are screaming at each other at the top of our lungs. We exchange “I hate you’s” back and forth until every ounce of anger and sadness has crawled out of our throats and only then do we catch our breath.

We never say I’m sorry because we never have to be.
We know that we will walk each other home holding hands.
We know that in the morning we will be laughing at breakfast.