How can I be sure in a world that’s constantly changing what love really means in the 21st century? Is it the commitment I am afraid of? Or is it the complacency that comes with familiarity after some period of unknown gestation. I think that it’s the unspoken expectations that extinguish the impetuousness of when two people first meet that give rise to contempt if the union is not tended properly. Of course I don’t know what proper tending is but I do know that unless we change our perceptions regularly we lose the surprise of the unknowing and stop trying.
I also know that I do not trust lust as the basis for any relationship because virtually every time it’s fools gold, and the polish comes off the key leaving blank stares instead of an automatic erection of desire. My desire has always gotten me in trouble and only when sex is a supporting player does the cinema of true love have a ghost of a chance in my house of Casper. I like to think that I love with fervor, with ardor and that I put my whole mind and body in even if lose part of me on the way out.
And then there is the ending that always has a terrible time making its exit. I never know when The End is. When love is in the epilogue stage I still think that there’s another chapter to read when in reality the cover has been closed for quite some time. What am I to do then? I think it means that I must start from the end and work backwards if I am to have any chance of finding of what the face of love might actually look like. I like to think that if I do what comes natural first and leave biology for the 7th period instead of my homeroom I will be better off. Indeed love remains a conundrum. Next up: Jealousy, what does it really mean?
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