I feel loved when I hear the words, “Hi, you.” That’s what Jim sometimes says when he answers my call on the cell phone. They sweep me off my feet, those simple words, and if that were all he did for the rest of our lives together, I think I’d be happy.
I feel loved when Em comes up and hugs me. She reaches the top of my waist, hugs tightly, then pats my back with her little hand. I am surprised by her capacity to love, how did she get so much room in her tiny body?
I feel loved when my family gets along, no quarreling over sharing the peppermint bark or which movie to watch on the computer or who gets a skirt and who doesn’t. No bickering over your turn to cook or I’ve cooked all week. Mine is a need for harmony, and more than that, optimism and kindness.
I realized after staying in bed most of yesterday that I rely on others to make me feel loved, rely on the smooth humming of those who live with me. When Jim gets sick, as he was Thanksgiving night, with bad pains in his lower abdomen, I feel unloved, or overwhelmed, unable to carry forth. It’s not how I want to be, I want to be a strong, loving partner, but sometimes my strength comes too much from the strength of those around me.
I’ve been reluctant to write about love, reluctant to look inside my heart and ask, What is love? Love isn’t gifts, I know that. I love touch, but more than touch I need words. Simple “Good morning,” “I love you.” Even if “I love you” is doled out every few intervals, as long as it’s said with a lift in the voice, it takes me with it. On a trip to lovedom. Dumb lovedom.
Love, love is. I remember the movie Love Story. Larry watched it sitting on the orange beanbag in the den. It was past my bedtime, but I crept behind the bar separating the kitchen and den, and I watched to the end. Love is never having to say you’re sorry. The next night I crawled into bed with Mom and told her I thought I had cancer. I guided her hand to my chest and showed her the small lumps in my breasts.
“Oh,” she laughed, “those are breast buds, the beginning of boobs.” I cried, partly from humiliation, partly relief. I thought I had the same kind of tumors that killed Ali McGraw, thought my tragedy greater than hers, me younger, me real, me not loved by a handsome Ryan O’Neal. Never knowing love and knowing in the soul inside my heart what this meant, loving to the point of not needing to say you’re sorry.
Only later did I find out that I feel loved when after foul words are spilled, my beloved can tell me that he is sorry.
-from Topic post, WRITING TOPIC – KINDS OF LOVE
[…] Technorati Search for: movie put an intriguing blog post on PRACTICE: I Feel Loved -Â 15minsHere’s a quick excerpt […]
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I like Em’s style of love, and “Hi, you.”, from Jim.
You are loved! Drink it in!
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[…] Read A Blog – RSS Feed and Blog Search Engine, Thousands of Blogs added an interesting post today on PRACTICE: I Feel Loved -Â 15minsHere’s a small reading […]
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[…] Check it out! While looking through the blogosphere we stumbled on an interesting post today.Here’s a quick excerptPRACTICE: I Feel Loved – 15mins November 25, 2007 by ybonesy I feel loved when I hear the words, “Hi, you.” That’s what Jim sometimes says when he answers my call on the cell phone. They sweep me off my feet, those simple words, and if that were all he did for the rest of our lives together, I think I’d be happy. I feel loved when Em comes up and hugs me. She reaches the top of my waist, hugs tightly, then pats my back with her little hand. I am surprised by her capacity to love, how did s […]
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RECALL:
“Hi, you.”
sweep me off my feet, those simple words
**if that were all he did for the rest of our lives together, I think I’d be happy**
Em comes up and hugs me
reaches the top of my waist
hugs tightly
pats my back with her little hand
surprised by her capacity to love
**how did she get so much room in her tiny body?**
no quarreling over sharing the peppermint bark
which movie to watch
who gets a skirt
No bickering
Mine is a need for harmony
optimism and kindness
I rely on others to make me feel loved
**the smooth humming of those who live with me**
When Jim gets sick, as he was Thanksgiving night, with bad pains in his lower abdomen, I feel unloved
overwhelmed
unable to carry forth
I want to be a strong, loving partner
**sometimes my strength comes too much from the strength of those around me**
reluctant to look inside my heart and ask, What is love?
Love isn’t gifts
Simple “Good morning,” “I love you.”
as long as it’s said with a lift in the voice, it takes me with it
On a trip to lovedom
Dumb lovedom
Love, love is
Love Story
orange beanbag in the den
past my bedtime
crept behind the bar separating the kitchen and den
watched to the end
Love is never having to say you’re sorry
next night I crawled into bed with Mom and told her I thought I had cancer. I guided her hand to my chest and showed her the small lumps in my breasts
“Oh,” she laughed, “those are breast buds, the beginning of boobs.”
I cried
humiliation
relief
the same kind of tumors that killed Ali McGraw
my tragedy greater than hers
me younger
me real
me not loved by a handsome Ryan O’Neal
Never knowing love
knowing in the soul inside my heart
loving to the point of not needing to say you’re sorry
**Only later did I find out that I feel loved when after foul words are spilled, my beloved can tell me that he is sorry**
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“Hi, you!” really is a great way of capturing so much affection for someone. I like that.
I’ve always thought that “love means never having to say you’re sorry” was silly. You may not have to, but choosing to say you’re sorry is such a great indicator of wanting the other person to be happy. Isn’t that part of love?
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“Hi, you”
“as long as it’s said with a lilt in the voice, it takes me with it
on a trip to lovedom, dumb lovedom”.
The word “love” doesn’t really need to be uttered. Touch, gesture, a glance – during the passage of time spent with intimates, act like bubbles, scintillating, sparking, bursting – a complete wow. i like the quotidian nature of what makes you feel loved. Beautiful! G
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Thanks, G. And pmousse, and QM for the recall.
YES, saying ‘you’re sorry’ is such a part of love. I called my friend Patty the other day, so regretful of words I’d said to my daughters. I had lost control. Go tell them you’re sorry, she said. And I did. It wasn’t even hard to do. It’s such a simple and powerful act.
What I got out of this writing practice was the knowledge that words are it for me. Not gifts or service or touch. What was the fourth one? For me, *IT* is words. I guess that’s not surprising given that I’m a writer. But I never knew that about me. Perhaps I did know it but just never stopped to examine it.
The other thing this helped me with was an awareness of giving love. I know I must come across as such a mopey soul, but I swear, there is so much more I could do to show my love to my family. I am a self-absorbed writer and artist, and I’m fitting these passions into an already full life. I realize I can love so much more than I do.
Great topic, QM, when it achieves even momentarily this kind of insight.
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