“What does being in love feel like?”

“Butterflies.”

Perhaps you have encountered the giddy, volcanic eruption of thousands of butterflies dynamically fluttering in the cavity of your soul- maybe during a first kiss or a presentation. These invisible creatures create an overwhelming physical response to internal sentiment: whether it be fear or love. 

A rhapsodic guttural phenomenon that- for a moment adjoins the ever-quibbling palpitations of the heart with the humming calculations of the mind. Awe-filled magic and debilitating anxiety. They are the anonymous, faceless creatures of passion and purpose lodged in the human heart. 

These soulful insects perform synchronized interpretations that guide the core of the musician or artist as wafts of audible cadence or visual mysticism flee their fingers.

They are reckless critters who harbor grandiose receptions in the heart of the enchanted lover, piloting their epicenters through wild acts of rose-colored valor, void of logic or reason.

A purpose-filled bug that navigates the athlete’s headquarters as their muscles flex and their bodies bend in the act of spectacular physicality recounting 10,000 hours of practices. 

These internal butterflies make us feel. They propel us; they are the motorists of both adoration and contempt. Butterflies assemble our souls to flutter- either freely or hesitantly with love. 

That’s what love feels like- now, there are infinite caveats to an “I love ____” which could be equally attributed to a person, place, or a thing- love is wildly inclusive and exceptionally exclusive. Love could very well be the mysticism that navigates the writer’s pen or the newborn child on his mother’s bosom. 

Love is a circus with varying acts.

Love is an intangible enigma.

Love is a morphing dichotomy.

Love is serene warfare.

Love is fierce tranquility.

Love is over-defined and seldom understood. 

Love homes the wayfaring soul.

Love is a butterfly.

It is an atrium within your heart, unequaled to any spectacular mansion in the universe- our internal insects locate sturdy, solid ground in a shifting, relentless world. 

While perhaps most of us have undergone the exhilarating fluttering within us- many of us scarcely detect when our butterflies die. Instead, they pass away in silent misery- no funeral, only subtle grief. Tender slow-dancing in the rays of soft refrigerator light evolves into nothing more than toothpaste splashes on the mirror and dirty dishes in the sink. Our ideals and expectations of what love should be are all-consuming. So we over-criticize and overthink. As the butterflies dance within us- we rationally rate their performances until eventually disheartened, these vibrant acrobats slowly retreat.  

Do your best to keep your butterflies alive.