Love: the pressure of having to define the “we

I hang in bed and type a message to my friend Carla. A short time later my screen lights up, "Still on the road, just on my way home, was with Paul". I can picture it: Carla wraps her jacket tighter around herself, also puts her left headphone in her ear cup and turns the next left. For the first time she notices that only one side of the street is lit up. She ignores her open shoelaces and walks briskly towards Karl-Marx-Strabe. It’s close to twelve, not a soul to be seen far and wide. Enough time and peace to think. Reviewing the day. Mumford and Sons warble in her ear that you can be anything you don’t want anyone to know. Well, wise words. And appropriately. She must be thinking of Paul. Maybe because she’s constantly in need of definitions of how she feels about him. Constantly she is asked about it, if he is not "more"?

More… who decides what this more is? Definition is not everything. Maybe you can not always define something. And maybe that’s "out of the system," but still okay. My girlfriend’s phone vibrates and she glances at another new Whatsapp message. Paul? The music continues – after the "You can be every little thing you want nobody to know, and you can try to drown out the street below" finally follows the "and you can call it love if you want.

Clear definition: he is everything but nothing for her

"Are you already on the train?", she reads, answers and smiles. I know how happy she is right now. And that’s because she doesn’t have to worry about a hundred thousand things like she usually does. Maybe because with Paul it just doesn’t feel the same. And I know that it is similar to him. That he probably tried to persuade her to take her to the train, Carla stubbornly refused, he now waits until she slams the door of her little pad behind her and writes him that she’s home. Very simple. Why do others have to make everything complicated? Is it not at all or? As recently as noon today, it had actually been a topic of conversation again: Between lectures, we grabbed the first rays of sunshine and stood together near the library. Carla and Paul were also part of the round. I watched from a few feet away as she held her Fritz Cola and Paul put his arm over her shoulders. After a short smile he disappeared again and my friend stood alone with one of our fellow students. I only understood fragments of words, but we had also only recently talked about it. "Are you together?", asked the fellow student, "Nope," said Carla. "So you are just buddies?. "Nah. "Yes, what are you?. She shrugged her shoulders, looked over at me, and after a few seconds simply replied, "Us. I knew what she meant. She reminded me of our conversation.

More than enough

"More than enough" she had said to me. I can understand that she is a bit annoyed by the fact that many people always want to have everything defined in such a tutti completti way. I guess that’s the epitome of society: universality, she had rolled her eyes at me. And then added, how paradoxical it is to generalize the individual. Especially when you just don’t have a plan of how to describe it, let alone how to go on from there. "Everyone always tries to make a story out of yours and has precise ideas about how it should be and how it must be if… Then people speculate, interpret and abstract.". He’s a lot to her – suggest any definition and I can tell you that surely it all applies in some way. Blue eye or not, then consider them gullible. She does not strive for a professional boxing career, but simply trusts her heartbeat. If it feels good now, it doesn’t matter what it’s like in the future – does it??

And if she loses (him)

While she walks alone through the street on the way to the streetcar stop, she surely now thinks about it again very extensively. "It just always feels good with Paul," she had said. "I don’t know what it is either, but I want it to be. Somehow." Sure, it’s not a definition that everyone understands now, but Somehow hits it. I know your story by now almost as well as if it had happened to me myself. With closeness comes fear. As always. I’m not good at letting go either. By the way, I am even worse at letting go. Still she can look at Paul and tackle him when she feels like it. But maybe someday it won’t be, because it won’t last. Maybe she is somewhere and he is somewhere else. And at the thought of it, she no longer cares so much what’s coming. Because even if we’re two people who always talk about how the now counts. And that every time is worth it, you only win and then yes not be unhappy at all can – she is it now nevertheless a little. But how can you define something you can’t explain?

And you can call it love if you want

I know (unfortunately) relationships where partners are constantly whispering in each other’s ears how much they love each other, but seeing them together makes me sick to my stomach that this is supposed to be the definition of love. Isn’t love much more than the definition of that packed into three words? It’s whether she feels at home in each other’s arms. Whether they sit on rooftops in the middle of the night, talking and silent and talking and silent again. You share the last piece of chocolate. They dance to the same songs no matter how silly it looks. She must smile when she looks into his eyes. Appreciates the human being as the human being. As the human being loves. The way Carla is with Paul. And that, although they are not "in a relationship" in the classical sense. That he means a lot to her is obvious. And maybe it’s love between them, even if you don’t say it. Maybe not. At least it feels real.

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