Always is an interesting word. It’s supposed to mean forever, or an unending period of time from now until…
And yet, many proclamations of love that contain the phrase “always”, or “forever”, or “until death do us part”, end up seeming like fleeting attempts to shove the pin back into a grenade that's already been set off. It goes without saying that in relationships, love is beautiful and hard and fun and confusing and unsure and certain and so much more. Yet, despite all this, love always seems to fade. It becomes weaker. Or perhaps the rush of young love inevitably reduces down from an exciting and dangerous boil to a soft, consistent, and homely simmer. A connection that transcends petty arguments, and depends on a conscious and continuing dedication to one another.
But, what do I mean when I say always is misunderstood? It may seem simple, but by the end of this, I hope I can dissuade you of that notion of simplicity.
“Always” is a very complicated term and truly is such a very long time. So long, in fact, that it seems frightening in any relationship. Yet, even that fear in of itself is paradoxical. The belief that always is too daunting to spend with one person is illogical. Because, well, what is the alternative? Finding a new person? A new place holder, who temporarily fulfils whatever desires you maintain in that current moment? A new person to whom you can make fruitless promises of “always”? All the while you continue to run, as fast as you possibly can, away from the fear which brought ruin to the last “always”. As I said, it's illogical.
But, being illogical doesn’t make it any less terrifying or tangible. Love is not logical. Love is as antithetical to logic as human nature gets. We somehow manage to find one person, out of billions, and decide that this is the one out of all of them, which we desire to form the deepest of connections with. A connection defined by suffering and joy and sadness and loss and beauty. A connection which consumes inordinate space in our minds, our social connections and the way in which we understand the world. And we do it over and over and over again. Love truly is the most addictive drug. For me at least, there is no cure, no preventative measures effective enough. No alternative. Granted, I have been painting with a broad brush. But it would be dishonest to do anything else, for what I am writing, is my understanding of love. However erroneous or deluded. It is what it is, in all its grandeur and pandering. As Laufey said, “this is everything I know about love”. Regardless, for those who manage to love, choose to love, and have their love persist, it is clear that the illogical nature of it has not scared them off, nor has it dampened their connection. Instead, it seems they have figured something out, found the secret recipe to sustaining a comfortable relationship. Perhaps it's just dumb luck.
And perhaps these are just lucky people. People that have found another to become entirely entangled with, without losing themselves in the process. Unfortunately, the proposal of lucky people suggests the sad existence of unlucky people. People, whose relationships crystalise too quickly, and become too inflexible or brittle to gently coalesce. So, they break. Under the weight of expectations or guilt or anxiety. Or simply under the weight of “always”.
And I think there is a reason as to why these relationships buckle in an attempt to sustain “always”. It's because there is a fundamental misunderstanding of the term. Not in any way that would suggest a person should go pick up a dictionary to brush up on their knowledge of the actual definition; instead, the misunderstanding lies in the subtlety within the word, which is what sustains relationships for always. Noticeable only to the neurotic few, who are so unquestionably mortified by uncertainty that they spend their time hyper-analysing the world in order to maybe feel as if they are standing on solid ground.
(To explain this, I will have to break the word down into two distinct yet symbiotic parts: “al” and “ways”. Now, bare with me as I contort reality a bit to get to my point. To the keen-eyed readers, you may have already realised that what I am trying to get at, is that hidden within the word always, is “all ways”. Like I said, I ask you to grant me some liberties with spelling and to ignore the etymology of the word, which for all intents and purposes is irrelevant here. But I think, this understanding of the word instead of the plain, basic use of the phrase “always” is what makes those lucky people, lucky.)
Because telling someone that you will always love them is extremely dishonest. Whether the person knows it or not. Like anything, people change. Buddhists have a term for it which defines much of their worldview, that being Anicca, or impermanence. Buddhists believe that enlightenment is achieved when one is able to wholly accept and integrate this impermanence into their very being. The ability to accept change, and not fight against it, ignore it, or toss it aside. But to expect it. Now, this all seems incredibly philosophical and grand, but when I really think about it, all it is saying is that nothing stays the same.
And we have to learn to be okay with that.
So, returning to my own confusing monologue, bare with me whilst I weave this all together. The first proclamation of love, especially one accompanied by the phrase always, is never that simple. It is said in a moment between two very specific versions of the say-er and the receiver. People who only exist at that moment in the manner in which they do as a result of whatever jumble of events occurred before that confession. People, whose impermanence does not cease the second the other says they love them. Instead, that act itself forever and irrevocably alters both of them. So, like the Buddhist, a person in love is similarly on their own journey to enlightenment. They are venturing to integrate the impermanence of the person they love into themselves. They are attempting to know a person, whilst both of them are constantly changing.
And in this change, this impermanence, is where my dissection of “all-ways” becomes important. A confession of love which has the term always, should not solely allude to an unending life of love exactly as it is now. Instead, it must be accompanied by the promise to love one's partner in “all” “ways”. In all forms, and in every manifestation of their being in the future. A love that is not bound only to limitless time, but to limitless forms. A love that can be soft, or intense. Gentle when it was once fierce. Upset instead of content. Malleable and not unyielding. A love which should simply be confessed by saying something like this:
I love you, and I will always love you in all ways.
