Or could it be that I call it love only because we haven't fought yet.

We have not raised our voices at each other; haven't argued over something stupid and small yet no one is giving in; I haven't left angrily and decided I will never ever speak to you again; I haven't left makeup on your favourite shirt; you haven't told me about your family and why there's some things you don't speak about. 

Maybe I can only call it love because we have never stepped across the line, and haven't experienced the things that come with sharing lives. I haven't called you at 2 am because of a nightmare; you haven't forgotten an anniversary...

But I did cry my heart out in an office at 8pm with no one there but you; you did drive me home to grab my stuff and then back to camp at 10pm. You did drop by when covid was full blown and the camp was empty, and when I speak with you, it reminds me of, I don't know. Someone else who was good at listening. It always feels like coming home. 

I don't know. Maybe there are different kinds of love – love at arm's length and love when you are too close to one another.