drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- all you need is vital organs Love is a weird thing. I'm serious. No clich�s. It's fucking weird. This is not to say that I am in love right now. No siree. I am completely love-free at the moment. Well, of the romantic kind anyway. Ellis says love goes through stages. You have liking, needing, passionate romantic love, and finally companionate love. Now this seems anti-climactic to me. My life can not end in amiable companionship. I want to be fiery to the end! And I think I will be. That's just how I am. But how can you tell if you're in love? Everyone says you just know. Everyone lies. Sometimes you think you know but then you realize you don't really. And then you realize that you don't know if you knew or not. And then you realize that you don't know if you were wrong either. You could have been right. You could have known. Maybe it's just that you don't know now and you actually were right in the first place. I think most people use the word too loosely. "I know it's only been a week, but I love you!" or- "Oh, I just love that book!" Maybe I'm just a jaded cynic, but I think most of us would just like to think we're in love. In love with being in love, to quote a much overused clich�. I want to be in love. I want to feel that thrill coursing through my veins. The adrenaline that nothing else, drugs or compliments or performing, can give you. I loved (see what I mean?- overusage) the way the colors were brighter, more vivid, the way every little thing was an exciting anecdote to be relayed to the loved one, the way songs were all instantly completely applicable and nothing on earth could touch you. The way it feels to be held by someone you're in love with. The way life is just brilliantly alive. (I just realized how incredibly redundant that last sentence is)... Now it feels like everything is dead. Gray and rainy and withered. If my heart was to be believed when it told me I was in love, then it's been broken twice. It's bruised and battered and more than a little pissed off at me. And yet here I am, carrying on, holding on desperately to a love that withered long ago. Clinging pathetically to last dying embers when I know I can still get burned. 8:49 p.m. - 2003-07-08 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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