loove

I was thinking about love last night.
I do this. I'm a hopeless, insufferable romantic. Even if I'm a cynical bitch that realistically believes it only happens to other people.

It's one thing falling in love with somebody. You smile at the boss, you count the hours until you see that person again.
You annoy the crap out of everybody else.

If love isn't returned, you're one lonely little chicken. And feel a bit shit about yourself.
In fact, you feel lonelier than if you were single.
Have Brad turn to Angelina and say: “You know Ange, this may hurt, but I don't love you dear. Hope that's alright.” She would think she's a fat, ugly, boring, stupid fuckwit. At least for a while.

What is love? (Baby don't hurt me... That Haddaway. What a guy.) Fundamentally, it's respect. You know their faults, and yet you fucking love these faults. Sometimes more than their strengths. They have an unsightly hangnail? You think it's beautiful. They spit when they talk? You love getting a free shower. They eat with their mouths open? You think it's adorable.
That's love chinas.
Love is imagining yourself with that person for eternity. It's aching when they're away. It's waiting for their call. It's tending to them when they're sick. It's trusting that person with your life. It's vulnerability. And compromise.
It can be a headache.

Mutual love?
Man. For suckers like me, it's just but the most incredible feeling on the planet. It's really higher than the highest high. Completely and retardedly intoxicated, I'm sure the old IQ drops a few notches. Floating around in this impertinent little bubble of complete and utter adoration, because you know that that person feels exactly the same way as you. Even if you're only banging once a week, and the hormones have ceased to affect your blinkers. You think he's the shit, and he thinks you're incredible.

I'm sad that this possibly may never happen to me again. But I suppose, it also means I won't hurt again, which is one helluva comforting relief. Love and hate merge, they do. It's a fine line. And love has so many dimensions; it can evolve, and die and grow at the same time.
Fuck, it's so complex, it's almost quite simple.

I've had people love me and me not love them back. I'm not the only victim here. Not for a second.
I just hope I'm not too fucked up to give someone my all again one day - if I feel the urge to actually ever embark on a relationship again.

Actions and words are equally as important. If a guy can't tell me he loves me, I'm not sure if his actions are worth it. If he tells me he loves me, but his actions say otherwise, it won't work either. Both are important, why? Because one can't work without the other.
And maybe I'll never meet He Whom Bequeaths Me With It. And maybe my repeated brush with this toxic, volatile emotion is over.

But I will not compromise love in a relationship. I can do late nights at work. I can pay for my meals at restaurants. I can pick up his broken body from a gutter and wipe away his puke after a night out with his mates at 3:00am. I can go on the run with him under Witness Protection. I can wipe the dribble from his chin when he's old and ensconced in a wheelchair.
Hell, I will even handle it if he wears a pair of Crocs. (Although this is really pushing it.) But love isn't something I'll compromise.

Since The formidable Ant is in a relationship, I asked her what she thought about the whole deal.
In her words, Love is:

Looking forward to arguments so you can have make-up sex.
Dumb inside jokes, or one liners only the two of you get.
Thinking that their beer belly is cute even if it's revolting on anyone else.
Love is fighting over whose house party you'll go to – his mates, or yours.
Love is perfecting your kissing technique for him.
Love is flaring up at their Facebook profiles when you see their ex's listed as their mates.
Love is giving them a massage after a shit day even when you're exhausted.

Sigh.

OK, enough. This soppy love shit is weak.