To My Gentle Being, My Careful Friend

Writing by Isa Denney Strother // Photograph by Sara Lorusso

I don’t know if I’m brave enough or silly enough to announce that I am love. It seems like a huge and unbreakable statement that’s meant for the people involved and not the whole world of the internet and anyone who bothered to ask.

Previously I wrote an article on how I had never been in love, or been with anyone, and how I was quite happy with that. I am equally happy now to be with someone, to be happy with them. While I was happy before, and I believe I could have been happy like that for a very long time if not forever, now I have a different kind of happiness.

This happiness is just as hard to define as the first; it’s totally different and cannot even be compared, honestly, so I won’t try to. I will just say that you do not have to be with someone to be happy. They won’t necessarily make you happy, anyway.

Now, on to what I think love is and not what it is not; I think love is waking up in the morning with a text telling you good morning, even though the other knows very well that you are not up at five a.m, and doesn’t expect you to be.

Love is someone who tells you to have a good day, and listens to you even when you haven’t. It is listening to someone’s problems, not just because you asked, but because you care to know.

Love is finding someone who you can talk to about anything. Someone who understands; if not completely, they are at least willing to try. It’s finding someone who can talk to you about anything, who you trust. Someone who you would give little bits of yourself to in words and trust them not to turn them around on you to try to cause you some sort of pain with a verbal blow. Sometimes love is long conversations in a dark room, watching the outside world move on when you’re safe inside. Sometimes love is feeling invincible.

Love is sometimes knowing that you’re falling and knowing that you have help if you want it, and letting you cry for a while. Love is always there to make sure you’re okay, and you are always there for love. Love is talking about the things that bother you and learning to change a little bit (and knowing that you don’t have to change for anyone but you want to anyway) and staying the same somehow.

Love is learning to move on. To forget things you’d rather not remember. Love is sometimes having no secrets. Love is sometimes letting someone else stop to breathe even when you could go on. It’s stopping to make sure they’re okay, and knowing they’d do the same for you. Love is watching someone’s face crumble, and feeling your own start to collapse in response. Love is trying to fix the problem.

Sometimes love is quiet; and you want to know what’s wrong. Sometimes love is hyper and you want to play along. Sometimes love is crying, and sometimes love is fine. Sometimes love is happy, and that makes the sun seem to shine through the clouds. Love is when you get a call in the middle of the night after an earthquake, love wants to know if your things have fallen off the walls and if you’re scared. Sometimes you are. Sometimes I’m not. Sometimes we both are, but we’re still alright.

Love is when space and time don’t seem to matter; even if you’re not right there together, you feel together. When 10-6 isn’t enough time to get to know them, but you feel like you know everything about them anyway. When you always want to ask another question, even though sometimes you already know the answer, and you just want to hear it again.

Love is when someone doesn’t mind repetition, and doesn’t mind the word “no.” Love is someone who cares how you feel enough to stop and ask, and actually make changes to try and suit you even as you try to change to try and suit them.

Sometimes love is a mess, and you can say everything and nothing. Love is spending an hour with a cup of tea trying to write an email that says everything you want to say, and 1,000 words in you still don’t know what you’re trying to say, but at least you’re saying something. Sometimes spending time with love is spending time doing nothing. Laying in bed as Youtube videos play on play because neither of you actually want to change it but aren’t interested in it either.

Love is when they turn off the song you hate. Love is when you turn on a song they like. You can sit and listen and it has no huge deep, hidden meaning, but it, like everything, has some sort of meaning and before your eyes it starts to take shape.

Love is looking at something and thinking that love would like it, or dislike it, and even if that doesn’t change your opinion on it, it changes something. Love is looking at each other’s favourite things, trying to grow familiar with them as if they were your favourite things because now they might as well be.

Love is looking outside at the cold, and wrapping your arms around someone as you both sympathize with the people who are forced to be out in the rain. You’re lucky to be inside, and you’re lucky to be together.

Love is so many things, and I know that it’s a different thing for everyone, but for me, love is mostly this kid I know with pretty eyes and lips, with soft hands and sparkly nails. Love is a kid I know who knows a lot about things from books, and tells good stories. Love is a kid with dark hair and cute clothes and a weird voice which is still somehow adorable and charming. Love has a strange accent, and love likes movies I’ve never seen. Love likes to read, and curl into a blanket ball. Love is someone who tells me I’m beautiful, and for some reason it sounds true. Love is someone who seems like the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Love likes to sing and dance and sleep and eat and create. Love is someone who you know wouldn’t try to hurt you, and who you would never want to hurt.

I still don’t know if love lasts forever, and I think someone must always somehow be feeling small radio-like waves of love in passing; even when you have never met maybe someone thinks that they love you, but they don’t even know your name.

In conclusion, I am 16 and I think I’ve been in love. It’s not something that I need, it’s not something that I wanted; it’s something that’s just happened and now it’s here, I don’t want to let it go again. To love my gentle being; love my careful friend.


Sara Lorusso

Sara Lorusso is a 21-year-old photographer who lives in Bologna where she creates mainly analogue images that are inspired by her everyday life. She tries to express her love for life, especially the daily things like waking up, brushing her teeth, playing with her cats, and kissing her boyfriend, through photography. Follow her on Facebook.

Isa Denney Strother

Isa is an American teen living in Christ Church, she dreams of living in Europe and making music. Her life is an adventure and there is always the option for, “Just one more,”.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *