what is it about the throes of love (the fervor of a soulful union, the amorous vortex, the interminable pull) that makes this romantic so timid of it? cautious of holding it close. declaring it our own. as if at any moment we could drop to our knees clutching air, sobs turning ashes smutty. as if to believe it would be gone.
we’re not normally so cautious, carefree with almost all but love. but our heart’s been torn right here before (ravaged, more like). so now we dance along fault lines, tiny tings of fear that the revelry, celebrations, joyous days in the sun might disrupt. flap the butterfly effect.
we’re a generation of dreamers, ingrained somewhere deep to quietly ache for the fairy tale. terrified of it when it becomes our own to pen. why does the practical mind take us to a place where we’re left sitting skeptic of what many of us spent wistful nights whispering over? imagining. wondering what he was doing at that exact moment in time.
blame the tiger tales of infidelity, loveless legalities, the rate of dissolution, but we can’t help but be left a bit of a skeptic. we know it’s possible. we know it happens. we’ve each felt it, had it as our own for a time. but true love that lasts forever? that shit is exceptionally rare (and will not happen to a majority of people reading this blogette). it’s not your destiny. it’s not your right. not a promise from the universe, gods of fate, aphrodite. it’s just a hope. just a dream.
so is the notion archaic? is forever’s modernity left to arrangements understandings secrets blind eyes? or is true love truly possible? can it last the battle (no doubt battered, scarred, changed in form) but nonetheless all the better for it? can real love really last?
(thanks to nair and trojan for the sneak peek of sex and the city 2 last night. it obviously inspired. if you want a great (read: scathing) review even better than we’d have done it, check this out)