Having grown up with my grandparents, I realised that I was able to experience the most genuine, unconditional love through them. Despite all of the mayhem that I created for them they loved me, through and through, no matter what. They let me be little, they let me chase my dreams, they let me be reckless – even when they worried.
But as the sands of time drain rapidly, so does the hands of time.
And as I grew older, as I began to experience love and eventually heartbreaks of my own, I realised that maybe, just maybe, this is what love really is.
Love is when you give without any expectations, you don’t seek anything in return. Love is when you respect the choices that your person is making but still being able to share those steps with them even if it is from a distance. It is about being their silent cheerleader, always there waiting for them to fall.
And as quickly as it comes, love is also about letting go. Letting go even if it kills you on the inside. Love isn’t supposed to be loud or boastful. Love is meant to be kept in the recesses of your heart.
Now, I am not saying that I have fully comprehended the definition of what love really is because I don’t, not even close. But it is a subject that runs too deep for any one person to fully comprehend. It is a subject, I’m sure, is something that everyone will question until the end of their days.
But, what I do know is that through my grandparents love for me, I am slowly learning what it really means to let go. Because every day that I open my eyes in the morning, I feel a little more at peace. I will forever be grateful for the new days that follow the horrible ones, because it is a new chance to love others the way that they love(d) me.
They are the reason why I love humbly, quietly, and in my own little way.