Talks of love
As if love isn’t already etched into my every breath, movement, and expression, February approaches and asks for more.
For some reason, writing about love is about as difficult as it is to ignore the love all around us.
I fear a pragmatic approach to something so rooted in ‘feelings’ is insensible for someone who leans more mystic than intellect these days. Of course there is a lot to say about practical love, healthy relationships.
Sure, I can write about love.
About how even the most educated can lose their sense of logical reasoning when it comes to romantic relations. I can write about unconditional love, whether or not it exists, and if it really is the most superior. To love blindly might show loyalty, but its boundaries and respect that make up a healthy relationship. Conditional love might get a bad rap, but I’ll say it… Before you jump on board with me, read the terms and conditions, please.
Real and true love requires some sort of ego death. They cannot both be held at once and trying to do so causes messes no one – not even the most woke of us – is equipped to clean up.
The ego says, I found my person and intend to keep them.
Love says, I want what’s best for my partner even if we don’t end up together.
Yes, I can talk about love. How it’s woven into every art form. Poetry draped in metaphors. Films where we root for the couple with all odds stacked against them. Books. Paintings. Dance.
Love is integrated into the very fabric of life.
It moves through us in our interactions with the world.
How we meet ourselves and each other.
Love is hidden in story lines, bridges of songs, expressions in photographs.
Love is a powerful drug, but just like any other – it wears off. Love is the lightning bug sporadically lighting up the dark; fun to catch but once contained, easily suffocated. Fleeting love and lasting love are made of different qualities and serve different purposes. Some love teaches, some shapes, some redirects. Some love peels open our eyes and minds, making clear our purpose.
Not all love is meant to last. Every meaningful connection cannot be a soulmate.
Most of all, love is a fantasy.
It’s real if you believe it to be, but so often cannot be explained. It’s why we must keep giving our friends the same advice over and over, why we keep going back to the same toxic situations. The only one to blame is love. How can a feeling so subjective be explained? Especially when it’s in opposition to all logic and reason.
Love is also a form of hope.
It’s why we continue to root for the Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw’s of the world. Because we want to believe in something. That there is something out there that trumps all, that can survive against all odds.
It’s something to fight for. It’s relinquishing control. It’s a test of how well we know ourselves. A practice of knowing when to hold on and when to let go.
