Lost in Love

Through the years I have learned a lot about life and all its ups and downs, and let me tell you it’s seems like there are more downs these days. For whatever reason in my lowest of lows I can’t help but look on the bright side still. A huge part of me wants to be jaded because it seems like it would be easier to live that way, but I’ve never been one to take the easy road. Don’t worry, my love for learning lessons the hard way will make sense once you’re done reading this.

Here’s my problem. I lose myself in love.

It’s such a powerful force. A force that grabs onto me or I grab onto it and we don’t let each other go. We are perfect frenemies. It’s like hugging someone you know you’ll never see again once you let go. You hate that hug but you will also love it forever.

I love, love and I hate love. And hate is a very strong word for me.

So, I have some questions about love. I wish I could ask these and gain logical answers, but logic and love won’t ever make sense together. (Logic and love couldn’t ever be lovers, or maybe they could and realize they aren’t good for each other and break up).

Anyways, back to my questions no one will be able to answer:

What does it mean to love? What does it mean to be in love? Have I ever been in love? Like…for real? Why am I even asking anyone else that question?

What happens when my definition of love is different than someone else’s? Things seem to come crashing down around me and my life turns upside down. Because I had this definition or expectation of what I want love to be. Expectations are tricky assholes.

What happens when you fall too fast or too hard, or both? What happens when/if you fall out of love? Those two questions scare the crap out of me. They’re a hopeless romantics nightmare. Fuck, forget I asked those two….

What happens when you want to let love go but it won’t let you go? It hurts, but part of it still feels good — but you’re so used to the hurt and then forget that love is about love, not hurting and being in pain for the sake of it. As a society we are told to “stick it out” and anything of importance doesn’t come easy. Does that mentality apply to love? Should love involve hard work or should it remain blissful?

Enough of the questions no one can answer. Here’s where shit gets real (at least for me). I realized that I have a terrible pattern of falling in love with the idea of love. (How many times do you think I can use the word love here?) This action is painful, dangerous, and hard. I am a master at this. I might have a pHD in loving love.

I can only share living in love with love through my eyes — and they are usually seeing through rose colored glasses, that have heavy prescriptions, magnetization, and tunnel vision. So don’t read this as advice by any means. No matter how many times I have been burned by loves hot fiery flame, I seem to always have just another match in my pocket to light the fire again, and watch myself burn.

You think I would become a little smarter over the years and learn from this bad habit, but it hurts so good…. Maybe this is the start to my evolution of finally getting over love breaking up with me.

I don’t use the word lightly when saying it to someone, because it encompasses my world. This is why I have very high highs and magnificent epic falls. Colors seem bright and vivid, I create false hope which of course I don’t think is false at the time. I start to plan a future that veers off track from what I had planned before. I am blinded by it. I become it. I am it. I can only see me, and I am love.

It’s like “I am Iron Man” but not as cool, but just as dangerous. I lose me. I lose my whole identity.

So, in realizing my “ridiculous obsession with love” to quote Moulin Rouge, I ask myself this:

Will I continue to fling myself into the unbound territory of love? Will I hand my heart over to love again to watch it be abandoned again? Or do I hold onto my own heart and never let it go and learn to love myself? So that I don’t need to become love when I find it in someone else. I can just be me and they can just be them, and love can be love in all its forms, but not formed into me.

My answer to these awesomely formed philosophical questions people have been asking for years is…I don’t know the answer. If I had one it would probably only be the answer for me, not for you. So why the hell am I writing this in the first place? Because just like the universe, out of all emotions love will forever remain a mystery.

Now, to distract myself I’m going to go count how many times I used the word love. Why? Because I obviously love torturing myself with love.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

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