“He fooled me, and I fooled him. He did me and I did him.”
It’s funny how we all arrive to this conclusion after years of being in a blissful union concretized by what we all dying to have but, paradoxically, in effect the eventual cause of our death, something we call love-and love it is.
Literature’s best sonnets, most compelling novels, most dramatic epics were nothing but platforms for expressing this universal truth we all accept as the only truth worth believing in, others are debatable. However, it’s also the least understood. Only somebody cloaked with its spell, made drunk by its spirit can fully comprehend what it is, but after being freed from the spell, having gained sobriety, their opinions about love would have drastically changed, altered that they way they think about this concept that escapes definition will be far too detached from how we believe it is. We do not believe them; we don’t care to consider what they have gone through until we reached a point when our very own lives are cursed or drowned by love.
Theories about how we fall in love abound. Each of the social sciences has its own rendition of the song that befits the story of how we fall in love, sustained it for some, or ended in vain for most. Even the hard sciences have their own stories to tell.
I have this hypothesis which I will put to test one of these days: That love is bullshit. We fall with the other person but this love is not consummated unless the union benefits us in whatever way possible. It can be just sex, companionship, good conversation, but whatever it is, it is what is more significant than the abstraction that is love.
My thoughts may appear meandering to nowhere now, something that I may attribute to love. I will not deny that somewhere in the past it has caused me a lot of inconveniences and discomfort which I have overcome, nevertheless.