Cluttered Love

By Hanna Marchesseault | @hannaaa.m


I’ve never been in love.


I know I’m 20 years old and really in the grand scheme of the universe, that’s not too unusual. I'm young. My skin still bounces back and I can probably do a cartwheel on a good day. These are weird flexes. I’ll move on. I’ve never been in love, but I am also always in love. In love with hellos and goodbyes from those I think about too often. Cold air. The way my knuckles can crack in the morning right after I wake up. That went from poetic to gross, huh? I love moments and feelings and tangible items because they remain consistent. People, on the other hand, shift. They change their minds. They say one thing, but mean the other. I’m to blame for that, as well. I’m so confused all of the time. All of the time. About everything. So, I don’t particularly hold this against anyone.


I’ve never been in love, but I am also always in love.


I love in short bursts. Faces that greet me on the street. My childhood bedroom. Cold turkey sandwiches served to me on colorful dishes. I’ll take a photo and have it sit in my camera roll for two years. I should delete that. It was a good sandwich. I can taste it now. I love that one miscellaneous sock that gets lost in the dryer and never finds its match. Is that how I am? That’s a dumb analogy. I should delete that line. Where the fuck does that other sock go, though?


I’ve never been in love, but I am also always in love.


I love in overwhelming succession. Developed photos handed to me over a pharmacy counter. Peeling wallpaper that shows its original hue underneath. Birthday cards from my grandmother, signed in cursive. I wish I had better cursive. Cups that are washed over and over but always hold a faint coffee smell. Songs that I don’t want to share with anyone else. Jeans that are a little too tight but stretch with time. Throwing them back into the machine to gain their grip once again. Why do I keep talking about washing clothes? I hate doing laundry.


I’ve never been in love, but I am also always in love.


I love in breathless endings. Beginnings. Speeding towards a sunset. Sunrise. Running towards the bus. Removing chipped polish from your toenails, but painting them the same color once again. Receiving a tight hug. Or am I giving the tight hug? Thinking about tomorrow. The next day. The day after that. I guess those aren't endings, but they could be. I need to stop spending so much time on my phone. My battery dies too quickly.


I’ve never been in love, but I am also always in love.


I love when others love. Not too much and not too little. I don’t want you to feel the need to prove it. I don’t want you to have to explain it. Even though I just spent this whole piece explaining it. My love is jumbled and confusing. My love is a Darwinian puzzle. Am I using that term correctly? My love is overwhelming, profuse, enormous, immense, inordinate, massive, formidable. I’m screaming these in my head! Scream those in your head!


I’ve never been in love, but my love is never ending.

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