Musings Of A Melancholy Kind

(EDIT: Put on your philosophical top hats, everybody. I couldn’t sleep, so this happened.)

I’ve been thinking about love.

And it really, truly, honestly baffles me.

The more I think about it, the more confusing it gets. According to the songs and books, it hurts. But it’s the best feeling in the world. It makes your heart bleed and your soul ache. It can kill you. But you’d die without it.

Unrequited love is, seemingly, worse. You’d think that if only one person hurts, then – mathematically – you’re cutting down on the net heartache. Especially if the person is unaware. But then people will tell the object of their affections anyway, because, for some reason, they “need to know”.

But… why? Isn’t the point of loving someone (or something) to save them from additional hurt? Not to mention the highly likely possibility that they don’t love you ‘like that’ in return. Then you’ve not only had your heart broken, but you’ve had it served with a side order of trampled ego.

Additionally, love is both prideful and not. According to the films, you ‘shouldn’t be proud in love’ – but if you beg for another chance, that’s demeaning? Suddenly you’re “worth more than that” – despite being told half an hour previously that you should do anything for love, because that’s the only thing that’s important.

In love, dignity is honourable – but with it, grovelling becomes swoon-worthy. I mean, isn’t that why Mr. Darcy is so popular? He’s so refined in his humiliation, and yet so proud when he’s found at the end begging for another chance.

And then there’s the ‘love at first sight’. I’m still not sure if I believe in that. There are days when I don’t – but then, if that’s fake, then first impressions and instinct are complete hogwash as well, surely? And yet I still have a certain amount of trust in those.

Some people say love is obligation. Love is respect, and dedication. Love is trust. But if that is the case, why are some loves toxic? In those cases, love can be dependency – even though dependency, on its own, isn’t always a bad thing.

It can’t be, because there’s no shame in needing someone. But there’s pity in being unable to function without them – but haven’t I just described the same thing?

“Love is not a feeling, it’s a decision”. And I agree with that. But then, why do people say that they couldn’t help themselves from “falling in love”?

And why do people “fall in love”? That just implies some sort of horrific accident is awaiting them at the end. Which could be divorce. Or (hopefully?) death.

(Which – in itself – is odd as well. In love, we manage to romanticise death.)

Then there’s the love that’s not romantic. It’s platonic. Or familial. And I know the difference between them, of course I do – but I would have no idea how to explain it to a child. How would you even begin?

Love is familiar. Love is exciting. Love is peaceful. Love is uncomfortable. Love is unique – but we all understand it, at least a little.

You can’t control it, but it controls you. Whether it’s present, or absent.

I’m going to go back to bed.


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