Affection, love for wont of a better phoneme, is mostly buried down in the great confusing morass of everyday connections and banalities. There’s lots of love out there, I believe, but mostly we censor the possibility of love being spoken.
We mostly leave love unsaid because to call it into some kind of aural materiality is to pose the risk that love is imperative, that it makes us do things. To my mind, this is complete rubbish. Bonds are bonds, gestures and comforts that never need enter the territory of underpants. I think many people take the position that love leads inexorably to the exclusion of other affections (as Highlander said: THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!), but all that exclusion (let’s call it monogamy) is really just a comfortable means of ensuring that things aren’t ever complicated.
Well bollocks I say, everything is complicated, the world is complicated, six billion people are all complicated. It is completely unreasonable to think that the core bond of human affection is going to be simple as cornflakes. The fact of love is as simple as cornflakes but in practice love is terribly fraught with kindness, cruelty, fatigue and apathy.
The really, really, motherfuckingly, complicated bit is to manage our individual affections in such a way as to not get all conflicted. Conflict is the shit hole of love. Conflict is the enemy of a good, loving, kind and open self. And so I am not looking to pull, nor to crowd, or gazump.
Love is just a flow of acknowledgement from one person to another: “I see you, you are alive now, we are alive now at the same time, my time and place is better because I know you are there.”