“I loved it, but I hurt the person. I loved it, but I cheated. I loved it, but I lied. I loved it.” That’s what they brag about saying, that they loved it. “I lost a love”, you say. For maybe you never really loved, I say.

We are sold an idea of love so despicable, so minimal, that sometimes we end up buying and paying dearly for this tiny concept. And there we are suffering from someone who mistreats us, who does not treat us well, who does not pay attention to us, who does not accompany us. We say we love someone who just doesn’t love us.

And we follow, because we believe that following is love, because the person gave us a little attention and that is love. Because he asks us out once a week, because he gives us a tight hug when he disappoints us, because he tells us that we are the most important part of his universe. We continue because we are lacking in affect and the crumbs they give us seem to be enough. Little is enough for us.

We fall in love with those who match our smile, with those who speak the right words at the right time, with those who respond to our messages in two seconds and with a heart emoji. We fell in love with very little.

But what kind of love is this that lies and manipulates? Who doesn’t respect and doesn’t care? What kind of love is this that is selfish and doesn’t let you follow your dreams? What kind of love is this that holds you and tells you what you should or shouldn’t do? Who sees us as private property, as if we weren’t even our own.

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What kind of love is this that one day gets sick and ends? And after it’s over, it turns into hate? What kind of love is this that has an expiration date? As if life wasn’t short enough to say, “I need a break” or “we need to meet new people”.

Maybe they never really loved us. Perhaps, we also never love anyone and we just want to believe that we have achieved love. We want to look around and be able to say “one day I loved”, “one day someone loved me”, “I am in love”, “someone loves me”, but maybe this is our big lie that we tell the world.

I don’t know what love is, but I don’t think love has to do with suffering, nor that it’s something that takes us to the bottom of the well. I think love is like delicious hot chocolate in the bitter cold of winter. I believe that love is something that few people achieve, like watching the sunset on Everest, something like that.

That’s why we hear so often that we need to love ourselves before we love someone else, so that we can have some idea about how we should be treated when we are loved. To find someone who also loves themselves and at least knows where they are taking us. Someone who also teaches us about love, because the truth is that we know very little about it. And if we don’t know how to love ourselves, a drop will always taste like a flood.

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Maybe I’m wrong, and love is all those dubies we hear in everyday life. Maybe love is more sadness than joy, more disappointment than pride and more selfishness than renunciation.

Or maybe love is more than we imagine.