Love always comes unexpectedly. It is never planned. It just happens. It just unfolds. It just drives on to see how life would become with the beloved. As such, the very reason why it's challenging remains undetermined: the wait, the unpredictability, or the probability of living one's pathetic life alone.
As much as I want to be philosophical about it, the fact remains that I could not because love is a reality that defies logic. It is just consistently inconsistent. You'd never know what you'd gonna get. Loving is just like an invitation to a buffet--everything is there, enticing you to take a bite.
You get some, bite some, eat some, and spit some. That's life, that's love, and that's loving.
There's actually nothing that can define love as everything just depends on taste and subjectivity. It's like getting the horror of your life upon discovering that behind an almost Edward Cullen or a Jacob Black-like description of someone is a frog.
It can never be argued that love is something felt; thus, it requires no explanation. Faithfulness and honesty are sometimes not reciprocated.
Loving does not mean being loved back.
Love is either blind or sees more.
You're either happy because you're loving, or you're loving that's why you're happy.
References:
Essay: Walking you through reading and writing; Pilot edition
Photo: Brooke DiDonato
No comments:
Post a Comment