Recently I had a severe emotional blow, stemming —surprise!— from the oh-so-cliché complicated relationship between Boy and Girl. I have a bone to pick with “love.” Love, do you know what I think about you? You are capricious. You are uncommitted. You just don’t make sense!
I am not talking about the kind of love that exists between a mother and daughter, or a man and his dog or anything of that nature, but rather plain old stupid romantic love.
Two months ago I broke up with a boyfriend of nine months. This boy was the perfect textbook boyfriend—he was caring, thoughtful, and sensitive. He would do anything for me if I asked him to. Correction: I wouldn’t even have to ask; if he suspected that it would make me happy, he would do it. Flowers at all the appropriate times, one of the best snowboarding partners ever, phenomenal at remembering all of my likes and dislikes—this boy knew his stuff. The best part: he loved me.
So, Love, what’s the deal? Why did you feel like blessing that poor lad with such a plethora of yourself and then leave me so high and dry? I could have been happy!
It was a miserable breakup. I wasn’t happy with him, but I wasn’t happy without him. I had tried tried tried to fall in love with him, but to no avail. A breakup was the only option. I knew I would be all right; after all, I wasn’t the one who was madly in love with him, it was the reverse. One setback I shortly discovered, though, was that on top of being unpredictable, love was also addicting.
Oh how I missed being loved, adored for exactly who I was. I missed that closeness that comes with any relationship. I couldn’t help but hold his hand after we were broken up. It was so natural. Unhealthy, I know! But could you blame me?
So, Love, I read a letter yesterday. He had sent it the day before I broke up with him, and your foolish name was mentioned repeatedly. In over ten languages. It was the most endearing and poignant profession I have ever read.
At this point in real time he no longer loved me. Which my logic argues is completely fair. I can’t expect an ex-boyfriend to love me when I was never in love with him. Still, I am devastated.
Love! One question burns in my mind: How could you be so present, concrete and sure one day and then gone the next? You are such an intense emotion, when you are felt one instant it seems to stretch to infinity, unchangeable, a guarantee. I learn this is a lie.
And I can accept it. Because even though I believe that you don’t make sense, I believe that one day you might. I hope to see your mischievous self accompany me into my old age. This is what I hope, this is what I believe.
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