What is Love? (And this has nothing to do with Haddaway)
- Pierre M.
- Apr 14, 2017
- 3 min read
What is love really? I don't mean the kind we see in our favorite Disney classics. Or the fairytales I would day dream about as a love obsessed adolescent.
What Is Love?
How does it work, technically? How long is it supposed to last? How do we know what we’re feeling is true love, and not simply our cortisol and dopamine levels drowning in their own selfish overindulgence? And why are we so determined to make sure this feeling lasts, forever? I’m asking these questions the way I am because I’m reciting my assumption of what love is, by the way I hear most people describe it by their own definition. So again, what is love?
I personally don’t know. I think I know. Well, I thought I knew. Often times throughout my life I would’ve bet my most prized possessions and left pinky toe swearing I had found true love. I thought what so many other suck…people think. Love is this everlasting, unconditional bond with your soul mate. But wait…
What is a soul mate really? I don’t mean the type we hear about in our favorite Jagged Edge songs. Or the fairytales I would day dream about as a soul mate obsessed adolescent.
What Is A Soul Mate?
How do we find one? Where do we look? How do we know who we’re with is our soul mate, and not someone we simply connect with sexually and feel comfortable around intimately? Is what I just described what a soul mate is? Or is it subjective?
I personally don’t know. And I don’t think, I think I know. Because frankly…
I’m turning into a fucking cynic hell bent on giving up on love, soul mates, and every other rainbow unicorn shit that people desperately feel the need to find, share, and hold on to. No, I’m not having a bad day. No, my heart isn’t broken. And yes, I’m in a happy relationship with a woman I could see potentially see myself with for the rest of my dejected life. Yet here I am. And I’ve been here before. I’ve been down this road and I know where it ends(sounds like a song…could very well be a song…I should write a song). I know that I have the highest expectations of what I want in a woman and every single time I make an exception to the little issue I decided I could live with, it turns into an enormous annoyance. But I’m not asking for perfection when I myself am so far from it. I’m asking for an imperfect person to attempt to perfect the art of compromise and what I believe are shared responsibilities. We both cook. We both clean. We both work. We both want to grow. Just like we both fuck, shit, and complain. I could tell you what the outcome of my relationships always is, but by this point I’m pretty sure we’re both on the same page. Honestly, I’m scared I will be stuck in this cycle for the remainder of my time on this plane of existence.
This isn’t a poem or an essay. This isn’t an exposé or an article. This isn’t even…very good. This is however, how my freakishly scattered mind works on a daily basis. It’s a constant battle between a genuine gentleman, a growing man, and a pretentious ass. The late English botanist and naturalist said it best: “Misery loves company.” So here’s my final question. The only question that even really matters to me. The question I need to know the answer to:
Who else in this world thinks or feels the way I do?
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