Love is some straight up weird shit. “Oh hey, here are some super strong and uncontrollable feelings towards another human being and now it’s in their hands to do with that what they will”. THANKS, UNIVERSE. You’re swell.
It comes in so many ways. The temporary love of eye contact with strangers, first kisses, and impetuous drunken romance. The calm love of old friends and old married folk. Love between two sorts of people who unfortunately go together like oil and water and never mix up quite right. Then there’s love that’s actually just an overwhelming crush. Love for the one that got away, because the grass is always greener – am’I’right? And love that consumes, destroys, resets your brain, and turns you into an insecure shadow of your former self.
I’ve had all of those. Some of them repeatedly. When I think about how many years I still have left for things like falling in and out of love, I realize I’m actually really young – but I am bitter as fuck. Just like every other human in the world, I have insecurities and I partake in self-deprecation routinely (though at least it’s buried under how hilarious I am). “We accept the love we think we deserve” – and this means I basically feel like I’m going to end up with the troll under the bridge. Or hashtagging everything with #foreveralone while eating Cheetos in my underwear, FOR THE REST OF TIME.
Friends used to call me Mary (from There’s Something About Mary) because of the intensity of the crushes people would develop on me. I’d jokingly say “Always the dream girl, never the real girl” because the idea of dating me seemed more enjoyable than the actual act. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Now I can’t even imagine anyone referring to me as a dream anything. And yet in spite of all of this…I will always be a completely hopeless romantic. Oh, I won’t admit it (ever again after this post). And I’ll still be bitter and I’ll still be skeptical and I’ll still be cold. But deep, deep, deep down there’s a girl who tears up over songs of heartbreak and stories of love at first sight. She just only comes out when there are no witnesses present. Or alive.