Real Love (Slight TW)
Happiness, laughter, late-night smiles, that's the beauty of love. That's what the media believes real love looks like.
In reality, real, true love, is not that accommodating. It is painful. From the very beginning, there is already heartbreak.
You see your best friend, someone you hold dearly, being hurt by others from "love", but they get up and try again, just to get destroyed again. All for the sake of love, and you begin to wonder, why do so many people put themselves through it? This is only one part of the spectrum.
On the other side, you like someone, and watch as they date other people, over and over, and all you can do is support them from the sidelines. You're either too afraid to tell them because of rejection or fear of ruining your relationship. It's too late, you're already being hurt, because you've already fallen in love.
You're already in a relationship. You fight more than you can keep track of at this point, but you stay in this ruined relationship because you think you're in love. Maybe the relationship is abusive, and hurtful for you both, but neither of you wants to give up through the belief it's meant to be and in the end, everything will work out.
The idea of love is equally as beautiful as it is ugly. It can be the epitome of happiness, or it can be the cause of self-destruction. Love is romanticized, the good and ugly parts, and so we crave it more. But love can not be simply defined; it has no set meaning or value, and changes from person to person, relationship to relationship.
Few People even Like anyone happier, healthier, better looking or more affluent than them; we claim to Love the Images of Winners held before us -but that, too, is Vanity; possible Only Because these Icons are unreachable.
A few misanthropes might admit they "Hate" (resent and fear comparison to) any particular Celebrity... Till they Meet them. Then it's either gushing adoration or resentful deprecation; both expressions of Egoic Expression.
For Many Reasons; chiefly a lack of self respect due to their own Failure; the "average" person, who has achieved Nothing Noteworthy in their own life; and who's bad relationship(s) graphically demonstrate their social ineptitude; are Energetically Opposed to Joy and self determination.
Drugs Aside, most people are (much) Less than Happy; and few are fulfilled. Feeling Less Bad is all they have; so the foolish antics of hapless losers, and the exposed malice of Pieces of Shit, make them feel "better" in comparison.
Besides; why dig through a mountain of bad Ideas that seem "not so", just to find that Diamond of Excellence no one can afford, anyway?
Like all Hack Directors love to say, "We'll fix it in Post"; which, in this case, means "Falsify the Memories".
To rewrite History in the false light of Self Justification provided by the brain's indistinguishable comparison to the unreality of "The Movies".
I didn’t see the thorns.
I didn't see the thorns.
It's true, I didn't see them.
I thought it was the intricacies of love,
but it was nothing but a thorn in my side.
I didn't feel the thorns.
Its true, how could I feel them?
When its a story pointed towards romanticizing,
I grow numb to the sharp sting.
I didn't notice the red flag.
It's true, I didn't notice it.
Maybe because the red flag was crumpled up into a beautiful rose,
and nobody had ever given me a rose before.
Love is a Drug
Science, with it's merciless and unerring eye, has proved conclusively what the Devious Manipulators of History; salesmen and politicians, cult leaders and your mom, have always know; that our feelings (with a small "f") are Fleeting and Chemically Induced. Indulging in these feelings, lika a child, is routinely portrayed as "romantic".
Oxytocin, the "bonding hormone" (which breast milk is full of) has led to uncountable crimes against humanity; all under the Same Heading "Them or Us".
"Us" being your mommy, and by extension, mommy's religious delusions, atavistic fears, learned prejudices, and selfish motivations.
Self Reliance, the birthright of every animal, is too often undermined, if not crippled entirely, by Chemical Dependence; in the form of addictive need for some Other's approval; blind loyalty.
Some people replace mommy with a wife, who was raised by, and Trained to Be by, an emotional terrorist; upon who's supposed (conditional) "love" they depend for their fraudulent sense of self worth and delusions of adequacy.
Others subcede themselves to Religious "beliefs" promising unwon success, and undeserved, automatic, Assumed Acceptance. Belonging
The Need to Be Loved, not To Love, is a Hole in your Soul- where your Heart Should Be; as romanticized in Extreme's second biggest hit; the 80's power ballad "Hole Hearted".
It is as Bryan Ferry subsequently sang, in Roxy Music's biggest hit: "Love is the Drug (for Me)".
The Classical Conundrum
When there's calm the crux of aching
gnaws at sick sweet marrow bone.
Dwells there proof that's worth forsaking
ever more for little known?
Ardor whirls in chance encounters
With a truth beset by lies;
Snorting monsters and their mounters
Galloping where conscience dies.
Tragedy's no cataclysm
If it pours no carnal rain.
Beautied love; The rainbow prism
Postpartum to lust and pain.
Kindness glints upon a cheek,
Drifting vacant, soft as snow...
Harsh light slices passion meek;
Clueless what hope lay below
Reckless yearning for the sorrow
Buried in each frame of art...
Logic's lost again tomorrow;
Mind's no matter over heart.
Her wrists, elbows, her cutoffs, ponytail. The warmth of the asphalt on her bare feet. I think the heat had got to me. She was so cute, so beautiful. I wanted to brush the pebbles and dust from her feet, kiss her, say "I love you," and get us to the nearest place to sleep. I put the car in Drive again and rolled up next to her. "C'mon, Laurie, get in the car. I'm sorry."
Again she stayed looking straight ahead but this time gave me the finger. I pulled onto the shoulder again and and let her get small in my headlights. This time I waited until I couldn't see her anymore. I turned off the car, got out and took in the stars and crickets and heat. The moon was a yellow pearl. So much beauty we could be enjoying together. Looking at the moon I also saw her wonderful butt and her tender thighs as she stepped over some small lump in the road.
If I were to zip by her, would she make it to the next off ramp? Who would pick her up? What then?
Back in the car, nothing but wind.
"I'm sorry I called you a whore."
"I'm sorry I called you a stupid bitch."
The side of her face. I touched my knuckles to it.
She was asleep and turned away when we pulled into the Motel 8. When I pulled the seat back she squeezed my wrist.
All they had, or so the lady said, was a double with two queen beds. I went up and pulled back the sheets before I carried her up. I slept in the other bed but in the morning I got in with her and we spooned and I held her and then there we were again, trying not to gross each other out with our foul mouths, filthy tongues, and sweat and grime.
How Human are We?
I was raised on the notion that deeply embedded in every soul there is an ugly thing - an inescapable wretchedness. It is born of a hundred thousand inconsequential, long-forgotten injustices. It is a thing that calls out for love in whatever form it can get and howls in rage when fate throws unexpected trials in our way. It beats against all our ideals and ideas of self worth and the worth of others until there is nothing left but a wound in need of some kind of dressing. A toxic love can cover this wound and hide it from the world, but it is not clean. It will fester. Make our blood boil. Make our minds go numb. Make our hearts feel lost. How intoxicating a thing like this can be - how wholesome in its imperfection - beautifully dire - horrifically dysfunctional - how human.
Love is what you want it to be!
Love is mixed feelings and has a different meaning for everyone out there. Love can be happiness, sad, a smile, a hug, someone else's way of taking care of you, the bad days, a laughter or even tiny little things.
I'm guessing movies only giving us a lesson of how a relationship of a couple that was meant to be or fate or how it feels like losing the other by giving it at it's best, that is actually so perfectly made up and so wrong at the same time. Movies gives us a feeling that we can't live in reality that is why is so wrong but so amazingly beautiful at the same time.
I believe that we are attracted to the toxic because in this generation people are addicted to toxic relations. Like we want to have fights, we are in need of feeling lonely or depressed, even causing scenes out of nowhere to feel good.
See if you look at the rose, you will be amazed by the color and the way it is made that when you will touch it you only then will realize the thorns where actually from the beginning there. People only see what they want to see, but sometimes what you are looking at isn't the one you need. You may feel like you are needy or you need to fix them but they are not in need of your help, and just like the rose needs to be thrown in the rubbish, you realize what a waste it was. The only bad thing is that you still stay there cause of the feelings and the love you grow for them.
What I'm trying to say is that we may fall for someone with a hard past which leads to a toxic relationship but it's up to you if you leave early or stay and make yourself depressed and used by someone you think it brings out the worst, even fights.
As her parents called less and her best friend stopped picking up the phone, it was nice to have that person who would be there no matter what, even if it was just for a short moment in the entirety of her life. Because being alone was just too much.
She used his love for her as an excuse for trust, not because love was actually what she wanted or felt. She knew love was the feeling that she didn’t want to die tomorrow because it meant leaving that person behind. She didn’t feel that for him. But he was the person who could save her from the nights she spent crying alone. Someone she could pour her soul to and who was obligated to listen if not understand.
People walked in and out of her life like a series of revolving doors, but he was the only one who had to say goodbye when he left.