I love you in different languages

By Erin Deborah Waks

I like to say the words ‘I love you’.

Some people don’t.

Some prefer to make pasta when I text to say I’ll be home late and am exhausted.

To tuck me into a blanket gently when I say I’m cold.

To teach me cool, young, hip ways to do a fist bump each time we say hi.

To text me to ask for my thoughts on a situation they’re uncomfortable about. Because they don’t feel safe to talk to anyone else.

To tell me I’d love this book they read.

To admit that, actually, honestly, my new coat really makes me look like a lion. Or a Russian prostitute.

To come to a party at my apartment consisting entirely of my twentysomething friends, none of whom they really know, just because I invited them.

To watch old Disney films and the entire Harry Potter series with me over and over again, never quite seeming to tire of them.

To begrudgingly give me a hug when I’m sad, even though they hate physical touch. Because they know I need it.

To let me have the comfy bed when sharing a room on holiday, just because they know I want it.

To buy me coffee beans on their travels, even though they’re annoying to carry.

I guess one could argue nothing substitutes for saying those three little words, but I’m not so sure. I think there’s a handful - perhaps a large number, actually - of people who manage to say them without saying them.

I know three of them. We share a surname, certain facial features and, on the surface of it, very little else. And I believe them every time.