Love isn’t him calming you down when you yell. It’s him yelling, just as loud, just as hard, right back at you, right in your face to wake you up and keep you grounded. It isn’t him bringing you roses everyday or cute things that make your relationship appear more presentable. It’s after a long fight, that drains the life and bones out of both of you, and yet him showing up at your door the next morning anyway. It’s not him saying all the right things or knowing exactly how to handle you. It’s not him caressing your hair and telling you everything is going to be alright. It’s him standing there, admitting he’s just as scared as you are. You have to remember that with love, you’re not the only one involved. You’ve unknowingly put your life, your heart into the palms of another person’s hands and said, “Here. Do what you will. Mash it into mince meat, or forget I ever handed it to you.

I firmly believe in small gestures: pay for their coffee, hold the door for strangers, over tip, smile or try to be kind even when you don’t feel like it, pay compliments, chase the kid’s runaway ball down the sidewalk and throw it back to him, try to be larger than you are— particularly when it’s difficult. People do notice, people appreciate. I appreciate it when it’s done to (for) me. Small gestures can be an effort, or actually go against our grain (“I’m not a big one for paying compliments…”), but the irony is that almost every time you make them, you feel better about yourself. For a moment life suddenly feels lighter, a bit more Gene Kelly dancing in the rain.