I was thinking the other day about the concept of love. In the sense, how do you know you are in love? Really? It is really just endorphins in the brain? Is it society telling you that you need to be in love to have succeeded in life? Is love another desire that you can’t fully obtain? Is it the guy or girl running after someone who doesn’t care? Is it the passion one has for a single person?
It’s many of these things, because love is an emotion that one can compare to fruit varieties, in my opinion. There all apples (for example) but they are all different. It’s the same with love. Except that sadly, you can sometimes love someone so hard it hurts, as though you’re looking at the sun and your eyes are burning, but you know it’s worth it. That’s why, with hindsight I don’t regret any of the past few months. I mean sure, nothing turned out like I’d hoped (and for the weirdest reason) but in the end I felt something. Love is one of those emotions which gives you drive. The drive to be a better person, to work harder, to be dressed well, have great make up… everything. You want them to notice you every time you leave the house. It wasn’t the case for me, I was invisible, but for the few months it lasted, it made me into a busy organised weirdo. And yeah, sometimes he invaded too much of my mind, but that’s what love is isn’t it?
But not to write a mega long post today, I realised that when you love someone or respect them, you listen to what they have to say. People are generally surprised when I remember information they’ve told me, even months, years before… but I remember because I like/love these people, and with the respect that I owe them, I remember. Not that I want to talk about the past again, but while I was chatting with a ex person, I realised he didn’t remember anything about me. He knew my name, where my house was and my age. And I knew everything he had ever told me about him, and sure, maybe because he’s clearly an alcoholic so his memory is impeded, I realised he never cared and didn’t bother trying to learn anything about me. So in the end, I suppose that love is listening. It’s all about that desire to get to know someone so badly that you hand on to their every word, every breath. You want to know who they really are, so every effort is towards them. But just like looking in the sun for too long, you eventually see they light and you realise that you just got burned.
“You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.”
– Oscar Wilde