Philophobia.

Arachnophobia.

Lygophobia.

Claustrophobia.

Mysophobia.

Thantophobia.

Philophobia.

Philophobia, the fear of loving and being loved.

A subtle feel as faint as the hairs on our arms, prevalent among us all.

The terror that accompanies your heart beating in a new rhythmic, expedited pattern

The terror that your heart and soul isn’t enough,

the terror that your trust could be cracked and smashed like glass on tile,

the terror that one day your everything could turn to nothing.

This is the terror that scares people away from midnight calls,

3 AM adventures with flashlights under covers, headlights in the drive thru, or TV lights on an all night Netflix purge.

From a heart beat pillow, personal therapist, world’s best kisser, and every little kodak moment in between.

So the question is what is worse?

Never knowing the power of an emotion you can feel towards a human being or never knowing the ever lasting piece of you that chips away with heartbreak?

To stay philophobic or to break away from your R rated wet sheets?

I guess it’s all in the risk, whether you are up for the risk, whether the risk is worth it all.

When I met Ethan I never knew what roller coasters he would take me on,

I never knew he’d be in a framed picture next to my bed in college,

I never knew that I’d love him as much as I do,

crave his touch as much as I do,

learn from him as much as I do.

See love to me was always a way to sign cards,

what your great grandma says to you on the phone,

how you feel about the newest version of an iPhone,

but God I never knew that love was a good morning text,

a sapphire engraved promise of commitment,

a contact under frequently called,

a profile picture,

a hand on my thigh,

a laugh at my clouded jokes,

a person I could see spending the day or the rest of my life with.

I found a person who could be my first, in every way possible.

Someone who made me feel loved, cherished, good enough.

A being who actually cares how I slept or what I’m up to.

I like to think I’m lucky, I’m special, I’ve put some good karma out into the world.

But, I dunno.

Maybe that’s just how love works- it puts us through tests and trials,

anxiety attacks and screaming fits,

tears on steering wheels and mascara stains on pillows.

But at the end of the day isn’t it worth it?

You can squash any argument and kiss the bruised ego away.

Because a daily reminder that someone finds you beautiful makes all the shit that’s going on in your head mute itself for just a couple minutes,

a forehead kiss can make you lose sight of everyone moving around you except for you two,

knowing that someone loves you just as much you love them is mind altering and truly something.

Something that can not be defined as simple as “Philophobia: the fear of love”

So Ethan,

here is my love letter to you,

simple and true to the way you bloom butterflies in my stomach,

you are my handyman, my tech support, my therapist, my best friend, my cuddle buddy, my movie critic, my 911, my shoulder to cry on, my forever and always.

You are a string of endorphins,

a jar full of smiles,

a drawer of intellectual thoughts and philosophical ideals,

a picture perfect moment,

a lover so comforting, kind, and compassionate.

I feel fulfilled in some way being your goodnight moon,

the planner of consistent reminders,

the knock on your door of temporary reality.

I fell in love with the way you say “I’m here.”

I memorized your phone number as a teeth baring smile.

I learned how to let my walls down from your hand rubbing my back.

I knew how to love from the moment I looked in your eyes and felt my heart implode.

Forever and Always you will be special.

Forever and Always I will remember our laughter filled days.

Forever and Always I’ll value your intelligence and generosity.

Forever and Always you will continue to share your sunshine with the world’s days.

Forever and Always I will love you.

Forever and Always I will get over my Philophobia.