You know, eighteen year old’s don’t know much about love.

We say we do on social media and to impress the cute boy in our math class, but we don’t. The majority of us don’t know what love looks like, feels like, sounds like, tastes like. We may think we do, but we don’t. Knowing exactly what love is will always be a mystery to us silly humans on this merry-go-round of a life, but I’ve been lucky enough to hold a few pieces of the puzzle in my eighteen years, and I’ll share with you some of my wise teenage insight on what I think love is.

Love is letting them eat the last chicken nugget in the bag.
Love is dancing without music.
Love is racing shopping carts through the grocery store isles until one of you gets kicked out.
Love is when their dog no longer barks when you walk through the front door.
Love is reading the Bible together.
Love is sacrificing your regular Wednesday night reality TV marathon to take a couples yoga class.
Love is sending them chain-text messages until they respond.
Love is a late night call because they can’t sleep.
Love is watching Star Wars and pretending not to sleep through every scene.
Love is knowing the exact flavor of tea to brew for them to detox after a stressful day.
Love is planting a garden, and watering the flowers when they forget.
Love is supporting their strange vegan eating habit.

Love is playing video games with their siblings, and letting them win.
Love is sitting through dinners with their family while trying to sit up straight and not question the meat.
Love is smearing brownie batter on their cheek while they wipe frosting on your nose. Love is watching their hamster when they leave for the week, and not telling them when you forget to feed it for two days.
Love is waking up early to go to their church gathering.
Love is texting them nearly impossible questions and being amazed when they come up with a logical answer.
Love is listening to every Twenty One Pilots song because they have developed an unhealthy obsession with the band.
Love is keeping a diary of all the times they’ve popped in and out of your dreams.
Love is holding hands when it’s cold.
Love is watching the same series on Netflix, and disowning them if they spoil the last episode plot twist for you.

Love is painting with four shades of blue watercolor to try and match the color of their eyes (it never compares though).

I may only be eighteen, but through my experiences I’ve been blessed enough to taste a small sip of how sweet love actually is.

Yours (with love),

Maddie