You could say the idea of love distracts us from this universal existencial loneliness. It overshadows our absence, and leaves the terror of being alone. Along with love, come many things. The fact that you will never find the right person. You’ll take traits from the past and pieces from the future and frankenstein them together with the creation of a type. You will never be understood, there will be fine lines drawn between desire and necessity. The very moments of love will feel like nothing but an idiotic illusion. Then comes the thought that something is most definitely wrong with you. But then again, there is something wrong with everyone.
And you’ll hate yourself.
You’ll hate yourself from letting anyone in, for being, caring, adoring, for trusting or for just being you.
You should know that love is nothing but a whimsical dream, a fragment of lust which is often imposed and then intermingled in our minds.
In the midst of all this you will learn and understand yourself. You will curate your own dreams and your own stunning calamity.
And then you’ll meet the person that makes your atoms tingle and your cells dance. You’ll be sure of it, because you are now sure of yourself.
Even if you don’t find anyone, you will learn to love, forget and forgive.