Men and women; we’ve been stranded on this rock together, hurtling through space for untold millennia, chasing each other in circles, and what do we have to show for it? Dusty libraries of romantic poetry and radio stations which have been on repeat for five decades. It seems as if each sex remains a mystery to the other, and both are just as clueless regarding the intricacies of how we make this ‘relationship’ thing work. Broken-hearted women scream that chivalry is dead, and angry men argue that women killed it. For all the progress the past century birthed, we were born amidst a generation bent on pre-nuptial agreements and abandoning children. Now, half of us believe that ‘not feeling in love anymore’ is the perfect justifier.

What does that even mean? I don’t know about you, but it appears to me that we’ve royally screwed this ‘love’ thing up.

So what if I said something crazy. What if I said something outrageous. A statement so brutally logical that it tears down the whimsical fantasies from which we’ve penned our sonnets and billboard hits, the elated experiences we believe so true.

What if I said that love is not even a feeling at all?

And that to love is to decide?

A decision to choose someone else over yourself, in everything.

Maybe love is the complete opposite of selfishness.

Maybe it looks like a decision to be patient, a decision to be kind. A decision to not envy, a decision to not boast, a decision to not be proud. A decision to not be rude, to not be self-seeking, to not be easily angered, to keep no record of wrongs. To not delight in evil but rejoice with the truth. To always protect, always trust, always hope, always persevere.

Maybe that’s what love is.

If so, what shall we do with the surge of happiness, the bubbling excitement and the phenylethylamine-induced chemical reaction? Do we classify this as love also? I think not. I propose that our infatuations are simply a door for love to sneak through—so let’s make sure we avoid equating one with the other. For if we do not, and the Facebook status of our relationship is based on whether our last experience of them produced the feelings we desire, our relationships are concerned more with self than others. And, conveniently, out of our control. Not our responsibility, not ours to govern. ‘Love is a feeling’ = the classic escape.

You’re either in or out, it’s not complicated.

Yet, here we are, non-participating observers watching in confusion as this euphoria we call ‘True Love’ dissipates amidst the ebb and flow of boring familiarity. What do we do when the feelings fail us? When we ‘fall out of love’? When it’s cold, and infatuation’s river runs dry? I don’t have all the answers, but I do possess a suggestion, one crazier than anything else in this article.

I think we should embrace the cold.

I believe the love’s winter is where the foundation of relationships is built. But it’s not pretty, it’s not glamorous, and it doesn’t fit in with the mushy novel or rollercoaster Hollywood film. It’s a raw, gritty reality, and our world loves to run from what is real to what is fantastic.  Sorry world, but maybe that’s why this ‘love’ thing is so terribly out of line.

If you’re in the cold season (or even if you aren’t), make the decision that you are going to keep on loving. Make it now, and you’ll discover a love that lasts.