Real love

Much to Hallmark's dismay, love doesn't come in pre-printed red and pink cards, expensive chocolates in expensive foil boxes or carefully selected yet overpriced roses.

When I was 5, I thought love was when my dad left for a business trip and he gave my mom a "TV kiss" as I called it. I'd beg for them to kiss that way and then hide my face in disgust as they kissed passionately.

When I was 10, I thought love was born in the cheap metal hearts you could have engraved at the school carnival with things like Joe + Jane = *heart* This would no doubt start a fight with Mike who really was fourth-grade love with Jane and who in return would throw Joe in the school jail until someone used three tickets to bail him out.

When I was 15, love was confusing. Was it in the couples who were already having sex or the big dramatic displays of "Love, Tommy" written in the trivial notes on lined paper folded into impressive shapes so as to be easily slipped in the receiver's backpack?

When I was 20, I thought I knew what love was. I thought love was ignoring crazy habits or picking out the perfect presents.

When I was 25, I found out what real love was. It's not just accepting idiosyncrasies, but loving them. It's not about presents but the small things, done daily. It's about wanting to be a better person even though you're loved exactly the way you are.