Books and films would have us believe that love is something noticeable, something to see and show; something shouted from every rooftop. A visual, vocal, tempest of a thing that is never shaken.

But, love is also a mutual silence on a long car journey.

It lies in the nostalgic creases of every laughter line, in the feeling of a reassuring hand on your shoulder, in the knowledge that they will show up day after day. It dwells in the tender look from a dear friend as you catch their eye across a crowded gig, in the twinge you get watching your grandparents hold hands, in someone wishing you a safe flight. Love feeds off the banalities of life; those often overlooked moments of simplicity.

Love is truly like oxygen, entwined in every molecule, fundamental to our very existence here.

Perpetually silent, yet intensely loud in its ferocity of feeling.

Now, after all this time, I’ve finally realised why there is no surge of adrenaline, no burning sense of desire or lust.

It’s because love, that utterly brilliant banal kind of love, is a state of being.

It doesn’t need reasons or justifications.

It just is.

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Founder of The C Word Magazine, Emily is currently living in London. She is passionate about art, travel, culture, cinema, fashion, sports, feminism and a whole lot more. She is currently working on her own podcast with a friend and also dabbles in graphic design, when not doing her day job as an Associate Director of Media Planning. Find her on Instagram @emlrking or chatting on Confession Sessions, The C Word Mag’s own podcast.