letter forty three

Dear LOVE,

Let’s hit it.

First and foremost, F— you.

Ok thanks. Didn’t want to beat around the bush to begin with…like most instances dealing with you.

But I’m not angry with you.  I want you.  I once thought you were “be all-end all.”  But that would be happiness and a ‘lil something no one can describe, something Godly, unworldly.  You are just one word that that, according to the Greeks, can be dissected in more ways than one.  Of course brotherly love, people get.  We love our mothers, family, friends.  We show empathy and unite with our neighbors for yet a different kind of love.  Anything erotic I wouldn’t even want to tie in with you.  I think that’s where you got f—ed to begin with (pun…intended?)  And well, eroticism is biological, anthropological, etc.  YOU are what?  Disney, Hallmark-promoted?

And here I am.  Finishing a paragraph to you with a question mark.  There’s our rub with you, lovey.  We question you.  STILL.  We want our answers.  You are redefined every day based on what we perceive as you.  Now I’m starting to feel bad for you.

Let’s use Jane for instance.  Jane watches Cinderella at age 5 and sees love.  Wants it because it’s surrounded by glitz and singing animals who doesn’t LOVE that?  Then Jane gets her period and feels love for a boy in math class.  But boy in math class hasn’t hit that physical progress and lovessss his Nintendo.

Jane’s love is the first thing that stirs within her but is suddenly clouded by fear, embarrassment, (insert the obvious weird crush feelings here as well).  Poor Jane.  Now she can shake her fist at love.  And this is where you get sliced again.

Jane can either end up with math boy or not, and she’ll define you according to that.  According to our daily interactions and relationships we judge you.  Re-judge you.  Eat Ben and Jerry’s while we watch movies with your name in the title.  We’ll even lie that we “love” another human being to have sex.  Think about it.  Ich, remember that thing about you and eros…

Love, love love.  One syllable and fun to say.  I’ve only had butterfly type feelings once or twice but that was unrequited love so I’m not the professional on you.  OR should I say I’m choosing not to define you in accordance to my interactions with people I’ve been attracted to but haven’t committed to.

And there have been plenty of physical type interactions with people but none that sparked those f—ing butterflies.  Only instances where I was drunk with laughter and silliness and adventure and a “yes-and” attitude.  But then I didn’t “feel” anything so I brushed the thought of you away.

To sum it up.  I like the idea of you love.  I love the storge, phile, and agape loves.  Its those other ones that fuel people’s opinions of you, fuel the biggest flames and the ones that cause either extreme sadness or joy.

Love, I’m hungry.  I wish you could make me a sandwich.  So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to make MYSELF a sandwich because I like them.  Hmmm, “like”…now THERE’S someone to write a letter to.

PEACE OUT.

I believe in you.  Just maybe not the glitz and singing animals way.  Although there is a 1% thing in me that would totally welcome that if it exploded in front of my face.

Sincerely, <– do you love how I didn’t end it with “Love,”

Me

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About danarose

Textbook ENFP, if you're into that stuff (I am SO into that stuff). I love mountains and the ocean and my largest ambition in life is getting all of the people I love to live on the same block, to cook dinner, and talk with them every night.
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