Love & Its Unwelcomed Guests

A twisted take on love

People often call love the greatest emotion in the universe. They say it’s blissful and ethereal; transcending the limitations of time and space. The movies propagates it poetic myths. Paeans are sung for the glory of those who have come undone by its spell. People worship Eros. They are drenched in the awe filled reverie of the beautiful possibility that it brings to light.

 

To me, love is simple. It is that feeling you get that tells you the opposite to the truth that your eyes see. Love is a charade �"albeit a very glamorous and enticing one. It is seductively deceptive with a tinge bit of truth to ensure grounded reality. Love is the lie that tells you of a truth that never existed. Love is the shy awkwardness of that first sensual but innately selfish kiss. It is that false bravado of certainty that allows you to dare risks to their limits. Love is everything wrong that seems right; everything right that is wrong; and everything in between.

 

Love is me looking at her picture with dreams of bliss, shushing the reality of despair that life offers. Love is the wrinkles on my parent’s face that aids their smiles and displays the lurking sadness of the inevitable that comes apace. Love is the lies we tell ourselves to survive; the truth we know and hide. Love is sinning in redemption. It is the great divide between morality and sanity; the close embrace of insane liberty.

 

Love is me thinking of her while writing this, tears in my eyes. It is me seeing a future so real in the emptiness of time. Love is our children and grand children. It is the hopefulness of death, the bearable anguish of life. Love isn’t beautiful, it is anything but. Love is filth, a gleefully dilapidated rut.

 

Love is all these things and more. And as I stare at her picture, I realize what love would be to me and you in all its gory magnificence.

 

Love would be the fights I know we would have; tears I pray for my sake, you would cry. Love would be me saying sorry over again, and saying it again after that. Love would be your beauty waning before my eyes. It would be the silent sobs to comfort your pillows when my trust comes to doubt. Love would be me telling you how much I love you and meaning only a-half of a-half of it. Love would be the lies I would tell you, just to make you smile. It would be the truths you would tell me that I wouldn’t believe.

 

Love would be our children’s innocence and the filth of our adulthood. Love would be their adolescent cackles; their stubbornness and rudeness. Love would be our adamant nature to let go of the reigns of parenthood. Love would be our children’s turmoil, the sadness in their eyes of life’s despair. It would be both of us in old age, reminiscing at the despondency of our youth. And then, maybe love would be the certainty of death and the welcomed illusion of an afterlife, one that we would hope to face together �"in love.

 

But surprisingly I know nothing about love, except that at this moment…love is all I feel for you and its retinues are welcomed guests to our journey down this path.

Author's Note

Any thoughts? I feel I just rambled off on this one.

Reviews

[Alex]

This is certainly a bit rough around the edges, but still an honest piece. I'm not sure if you meant to contradict yourself by claiming that love is simple toward the beginning, and then going into all of love's complexities and hypocrisies. If you did, I applaud you for your subtlety, though I think it would enforce your point a bit better if you repeated that love is simple again toward the end, sort of book-ending your point of hypocrisy.

[Mifa]

Yeah I meant too. The contrast was the whole point to it. Thanks for the review.