"I love you!" I shout at my grandfather as he tries to usher me off the phone - The Big Bang Theory is returning from commercial break and he doesn't want to miss this part (even if I have CLEAR and DISTINCT memories of watching this particular episode 45 times with him). He knows I love him.  I tell him every time we talk, I told him every morning and every night and every time I walked out of the house when I lived with him.  But still, I want to say it.  I need to say it.

Grandpa pauses.  "I love you too, babe."  He chuckles, because we both know the routine to the next part. "Be good okay?" "Never! Bye!" He's belly laughing as we hang up the phone.  It's become our running joke, that I'm the misbehaving one.  We both know I'm too boring to get into any real trouble while all he does is lie and sneak lotto tickets and cinnamon buns into the house when no one's looking.

My grandfather didn't always hang up the phone with a proclamation of love. I tirelessly wore down the Lower East Side tough guy over the years.  My success with him lead me to bully other friends into the same type of relationship.  I need to know that they know how I feel.

I tell the ones I love that I love them because I want to rest easy in the knowledge that if this is the last time I speak with them, I told them how I felt.

It's kind of dark, I see that, but anything can happen at any moment.  When I was eighteen, a dear friend from high school passed away in an accident.  I replay the last time I saw him often.  I was being a jerk.  I was dating a jerk who influenced me to be a jerk and live a pretty jerky lifestyle.  And that jerk was standing right next to me as I rejected a hug from my friend.  When he passed away, I could physically feel the loss of his arms around me.  He had such a specific way of wrapping his arms around you, it was unique to him and my body craved for what was gone. All I was left with to comfort myself was the too-cool attitude I gave him.  It haunts me still.

I recently discussed with a friend how the idea of love varies in culture and upbringings.  Love is something held on a pedestal and it's only meant to be given to those who deserve it or hit some items on a checklist.  But if you aren't giving love, how can you receive it? I'm not perfect and I don't expect those I love to be perfect either.  In fact, I want them to love me because I'm not perfect.

It might be meaningless to the person I'm pressing my feelings onto, but breaking down how I feel about those I love and simply reminding them also reminds me that if I love them, I have to fully love them, flaws and all.  That friend who  keeps flaking on me? Yeah, I love her and if I love her, it isn't worth ranting about how she can't keep her schedule together.  I'll only rant at her once in a while instead.  Or that friend who keeps dating the same type of idiot and lives in a continuous Groundhog Day-like complain cycle?  I love her too, and she doesn't need me to attack her for those issues but to sit and love her in silence.  And when the door opens to gently nudge her in the right direction.

Right now, saying "I love you" is the simplest way to remind those in my life that they aren't alone. It's a safety net for me too, because it's something I can cling to when there isn't much other certainty out there. All I can do is hang on to love and give as freely as I can.

So, if you wasted ten minutes reading this, I love you too.

It was a brutally cold fall evening--the first of it's kind in 2016.  I wanted to attend this monthly festival in the worst way.  Live bands in the street, food and drinks lining the sidewalk.  I'd missed the previous monthly events since moving into the city and I thought I would be able to wrangle this event because it was so close to my birthday and I could guilt people into tagging along.

What I didn't take into account was the possibility that the ridiculously unusual beautiful fall weather that ruined my gorgeous maxi pink skirt birthday outfit (far too warm for pairing that with a black sweater!) just days before would suddenly up and disappear.