You thought you’d felt it before. You were so sure of it. You said that’s what it was, you told people, as many people as you possibly could. You felt all those things you’d read in a dog-eared Jane Austen novel and it was the best you’d had, so it had to be it, right? But there was always something wrong, wasn’t there? But it was balanced out. It had to balance out.

Then something happened. Something that changed the way you see everything you’ve ever known. Somebody suddenly made you question everything you’d felt before them.

There is no combination of words in your vocabulary that can begin to explain the way you’re feeling. You could search the dictionary, cross reference with the thesaurus, but you still wouldn’t find it. There are those three words, of course. But they don’t seem enough. You’ve said them before, probably too many times and that’s made them lose their meaning, they’re too small now.

You could try listing the physical changes within you the moment you’re in their presence. The quickening pulse at their voice, the flipping stomach at their eyes, the breath catching in your lungs at their touch, the weakness in your knees from their kiss. But they’re just more clichés aren’t they? More words just regurgitated from a Hugh Grant movie.

You’ve told them, many times, how difficult it is to find the words to explain this. They say they understand but you know they don’t really. Because nobody has ever felt the way you are feeling. That’s why the words don’t exist, because it is all completely new.

So maybe there will never be the words. None that really explain all this. And maybe that’s ok. Maybe you don’t need to be able to vocalise it perfectly for a change. Maybe the look in your eyes first thing in the morning and the song on your voice as you say their name and the catch of your breath when they touch you is enough. Maybe the clichés are ok.

Maybe love is supposed to be indescribable.
And maybe this just means it’s really it.