I’ve been obsessed with love lately.
Not so much of me myself and I falling IN love, but the aspects of ‘falling in love’; the common stories, the nuances of bodies as wonderlands, the heady scent of your lover filling your head and spreading to your fingertips. Or something.
I want to split it apart and watch it bleed: how do people view the process, and how does that differ from actually falling in love? When I was a virgin to love (not love-making, *HA*), there was a vague empty understanding that love looked like deep gazes, wistful sighs, and morning sex. There was a surprisingly visceral aspect of falling in love. My gut ached with pangs of joy and terror; HOW COULD TWO PEOPLE LOVE EACH OTHER? (I was raised in an unhappily polygamous family). Everything and nothing was vulnerable about it; you felt confidence and strength together, and the world would fall to pieces when you were apart. Is that what ‘magnetism’ is, without romanticizing it? You can’t bear to be in a room and not look at each other. How suffocating; intoxicating; almost sinister…
Ah, but after a first love, is there a second? Almost everyone after the first is unknowingly and clinically inspected– an unconscious list, a constant comparison. Those poor bastards– he’s done it already, he’s done it all. Yet when you find yourself interested in the present, the past slips away, and the pedestal crumbles… you think, has it all been a love-drunk illusion? Am I waking up…?