A blog friend dislikes people who use song lyrics. They are unoriginal. I’ve been called worse, so…

Have you ever loved someone so much you give your arm for? (sic)
Not the expression, no, literally give an arm for.
When they know they’re your heart,
And you know you are their armor,
And you will destroy anyone that will try to harm her.

Eminem, When I’m Gone

Have you loved that much, reached that point where another life is more important that your own? I remember a friend once explained how much he loved his significant other.

I’d kill for her,” he told me.

“Would you die for her?” I asked.

“What?”

“Would you give your life to save hers? Do you love her that much?”

There was no answer to my question. A man in his early twenties rarely thinks such thoughts. I was different; a silly, romantic fool with misguided ideals of honor and sacrifice. That has been my personal litmus test. I love if I know her life is more important than my own.

Question again: Have you loved that much?

Question: How do you prove that?

Words are impotent. Affectionate expressions and pillow-talk promises are mere sounds. Without actions they are as fleeting as the wind. An, I love you, while beautiful to hear, means little without something behind it.

Yes, I would die for her, a foolish, Victorian gesture. In an unthinkable situation I wouldn’t have to pause. Her life holds more potential than that of my battered, bitter soul. Her laughter can be heard by the deaf, her smile seen by the blind. The possibilities of that outweigh the meagerness of my own. The chances of me making that sacrifice are dim. I doubt the situation will ever arise that puts my love to the test.

Question, again: How do you prove that?

There is big love and small love, I have been told. I look at the big picture and how my actions affect it. My life is a perpetual five-year plan, hoping actions now will lead to a desirable future. Sixty, 70, 80 hours a week, exhaustion, and a pay cheque, late nights and missed dinner, Saturdays at the office: Big love.

Breakfast in bed, holding hands, washing her clothes, making the bed, an unannounced kiss on the cheek, walks in the rain, holding her umbrella: Small love. I should look into free romantic couples games . That would be small love.

Maybe it’s time to put away the fictional notions of sacrifice. I’m no Sydney Carton. There are no explanations for the depth of my emotion. How can a grand sacrifice be vocalized and comprehended? Yes, it time to put them away, to cast them to a corner of my mind, the instinctive corral that will auto-pilot me should that moment ever arrive. It’s the little things I need to worry about.

Yes, I’d give my arm for her. I can’t, so I’ll use that arm to hug, hold, caress, and cook.

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