Just another rant about words

The delineation between loving someone versus being in love with someone is bullshit.
What you actually mean is that you don’t hold romantic and/or sexual feelings for a person.
And pretending that “in love” is some kind of permanent state is a harmful practice. It negates most relationships. Causes grief and pain and destroys families.
“In love” should be used to mean that not only are you romantically linked, but also that you will do the real work of maintaining and building your relationship(s) so that the state of “in love” can be achieved.

This desperate seeking for a “spark” is ridiculous. Sparks are fleeting and while they can kindle a flame, it is but one way in which a fire is created.

People are all looking for a thunderbolt but a fire built from steady constant work will burn just as hot and instead of that instant destruction, can build.

And some of us are nuclear fires born of stars, we need other stars to be happy. But really, any person who hasn’t hardened their heart, can become a star.
To build and build lasting and out lasting a mortal span.

I suppose I’m just tired of the limits people place on their hearts. I understand caution. Hells, I understand a sharp blade at the right time. But still, we could be less foolish with our phrasing. Words build us. Give us a framework to assault reality.

And yes, if someone advances on you unwanted, well then remember that sharp knife I mentioned?

Annual rant about love

I hate loving as I do. It seems a form of madness to see this crack in someone’s facade and for the briefest instant see who they are, who they might be. Then to fall in love with them. It’s crazy. Everyone says, experts, psychologists, philosophers, etc. Everyone says love takes awhile to form. But for me, that only happens if I’m actively impeding it or if I sense something…off.

Otherwise the fall is inevitable. So yes I hate loving in this way because when I’m not with someone, I pine. I pine for all whom I love but am not with. Who say that “I mean so much or If only this or that.” And I rail against this cage of almost but not quite and shout “Why not!”

While I may accept the choices of others, because I must, I do not agree. Better to allow love to bloom in fullness, to throw yourself into it completely, to dance in its madness and delirious joy than to hold back and be safe or wait for more opportune times.

There is no perfect time. No mythical place where it’s easy. No set of actions that make life easy. But love, the luxury we have.
To not choose love is a blasphemy to me. A thing profane.

We live in a time and place where love can be chosen. Where who you are with is not dictated solely by economics and opportunity. We are not limited by social circle, physical location, or class. We get to choose.

How can the choice not be love? How can comfort be more important than the chance at joy? All the comfort in the world cannot make up for a lack, for the heartache, the silent loneliness.

That moment when my heart sped up, when you put your head to my chest, was love. Some would say it’s sex, but I say “Bah, boring.” Sex without emotion is empty. It’s the equivalent of eating candy. As compared to a meal of complexity and satisfaction.

Look me in the eye and tell me you are happy with your life. That your days all sit in the band between content and joy. And if not, define and discover why not.

If I am not the choice that brings you to the place of joy, then I implore, find it. Find love. Don’t just accept, strive. Don’t just survive, live. I don’t care if it’s with me, though I would prefer it. Choose love. Not just the love that is really like. Choose to exist in a state of love. It’s better than the alternatives. Even if it is fucking painful.

The price of memory

There is a thing in movies and TV shows and in books where despite everything that the protagonist does, every action taken. Despite it all, the person they love is killed or dies. And it destroys me each time. It rips my chest open and for a minute it’s like the door is opening again and I see her, laying there, dying all over again. Every time.

No matter how much time passes, there are things that will trigger me back.

I’m torn between wishing I don’t experience that again and never wanting to get to the point where I feel nothing.

Because if I feel nothing, I will have lost that last piece of her.

But I also don’t want the person I love now to get the impression that I somehow love them them less. I love madly, deeply, completely. And I love you.