The Impossible and Compelling Concept of Love

It is the one emotion no one can understand without misunderstanding it. The one everyone relishes…and sometimes curses, which it is oft a vital piece in a much larger game called life, where, without that piece, the game is, supposedly, lost. This is known simply, as Love.

It is somewhat indefinable, being consigned to opinion, yet, somehow, it is easy to tell what is obviously Love and what is not. For so many reasons, it is a paradox, and yet we, as humans, need it, where no other animal seems to, or at least, to as much of an extent.

I was one of these animals in a time before nine months ago, when I was social, but only enough to be an observer of the calamity of human emotion, surfacing at regular intervals. I saw what I thought was the best representation of Love to one who did not practice it: dramatic, treacherous, and a colossal waste of time. There seemed to be no point…it always ended the same way; someone was hurt, betrayed, and broken down, in some cases shattered into millions of tiny pieces with no one to help pick them up. But such viewpoints, true or not, can only be adhered to for so long, and I too, eventually succumbed to the poison.

I do not believe in soul mates, fate, karma, or that everything necessarily happens for a reason. Sometimes, it amazes me because there were plenty of people I could have fallen for. Why it was her, I do not know, but it was, and I must say, that the initial confession to oneself that the feeling was there is something unrivaled; it swelled the heart, as much as the one I fell for. Logic died in the face of desire, to the point that questions such as why or how no longer mattered. It simply was and I would’ve had it no other way. Uncertainty permeated other relevant questions, such as whether or not the feeling was mutual. It seemed to be, but as of now, when she is slowly slipping away into the arms of another, one does wonder. The initial feeling was to die for, but it was not capitalized…and Hell soon followed, this being where things that I thought were unbreakable, such as my composure, began to erode.

Of course, others came in those nine months…alternate choices that genuinely seemed to spark interest. But these served, it seemed, to be merely distractions. I returned mine eyes to her not too long afterward or perhaps even before. It was as if I had no more control over my attention span, desires, or free will. I learned more in the past nine months than I had in the past nine years. Things such as the fact that one cannot choose whom they love, or that one cannot simply force their own feelings away. Things of this nature stay with oneself. Thus, it became a dead end, with only one possible remaining option, and it was not exactly uplifting…

Fight. Fight eternally, and keep on fighting, even in sorrow, even should there seemingly be no more hope left, replaced solely by disappointment. Pick up the pieces, and keep reassembling until mine arms are the ones embracing, or until the heart cannot be reassembled anymore. To succumb to the poison of Love, to let that special person be a curse to every afterthought is both an ailment and a cure in and of itself, but to succumb to the pandemic of despondency is a failure in the game we all play, known as life. There are many things I still do not know, such as what would have happened had I found my Love in those distractions. Would I be content? Would nothing have been different? I do not know. All I know is what I reap, and what I would prefer; I would prefer no alternate, no other. This, is my prerogative.