Yay, essay time... in a far earlier post (ok, maybe about 2 weeks or so), 'The Nevers That Consume Us', I took a more realistic approach to love and how we deal with love. In the following, slightly earlier essay (mmm... love my chronological displacement), I think I was more idealistic, but the romantic in me does not want to give up on that sort of idealism. Anyway, I leave things for you, the reader, to judge, as I continue to archive, and on occasion post an original thought or two. (though I did edit this and change a couple of things, so there might be an original thought hiding in there :)
'On Love'
Such is my love for thee do I so belong,That for thy right, myself would bear all wrong. --- William Shakespeare
The above line I think has summed up my nominal feelings about the subject of love, or it is at least the feelings and thoughts I should have about a complete love... perhaps even the love I wish I could have. Sometimes it is the love I lost, and then it has become the love I regret. On the whole, it is a confusing mess that makes me, more often than not, a hopeless and helpless romantic. It made me a person who has naively struggled with the hopes and dreams of my own love while bearing the burden of others. Therefore, the words of this sonnet by Shakespeare are applicable and the root of my ideals, and also the root of my conundrum. I have borne everything so that the one I loved would be happy at the expense of my own happiness. Love... or madness? In terms of unconditional love, then I should think that my actions were the truest expression of love, but the harm it did to myself was something deeper. It was a harm I did not even understand at the time. What, then, makes us do such things? The answer is simple. Love.
Being a romantic, I have done odd things for the name of love. I have composed sonnets in the middle of a crowd just to get someone's attention. I have read and sent poems to many a women if only to help them understand. I have driven all night across the country just so I could curl up with the woman I loved... three times no less. I left the one I loved because I needed her love, not her idea of love, alas, more than once. Still, what drives me is more what I can imagine about love, and about my ideals of love. Needless to say, reality is far different than what we imagine. If anything, I have become more pragmatic than I would like and yet, I cling to some insane optimistic ideal.
So therefore, I make myself suffer because I am a little too idealistic and hold myself and others to a higher standard for the sake of a love that might not be possible. Well, it is possible. Alas, the world did not see fit to allow it to continue in the manner it should have. And I then regret what I lost only to think to find it again but then lose it because I sacrificed too much for the sake of the one I loved. In the end, only the idea of love was left. Instead of staying together and enduring that type of agony; we walked away. Strangely, I have done that twice in my life, ten years apart. I often wonder what that says about me.
One should think that my experiences have made me bitter and remorseful. I should say that this is true to a degree, but it has only made me wary of what seems wonderful because I fear it could not be again. I am sure all romantics deal with this in their lives. It is perhaps their hallmark and the source of their great strength, in writing and creating emotion. And I refer to romantics in general, not just myself. Nor am I saying my words are any better than others. To me, the romantic has been through so much that they have no choice but to have an outpouring of emotion. It appears in everything they write, be it an essay, short fiction or a poem. It is a part of who they are and of who I am. The romantic has a connection with the emotion of love itself. It is both wonderful and yet deeply tragic.
It is said that experience is the best teacher. Therefore, I feel my experience has given me an insight into love that I did not have as an idealistic kid of nineteen. As a bit older and wiser man of thirty-three, I know better; however, when I write I long to be that boy of nineteen. That boy with stars in his eyes who knew what could be forever. Sometimes the man I am holds me back. I want to tap into that fountain of emotion created by connections beyond words. Connections to me that now seem to hit and miss, tempered by my own barriers; not wanting to be hurt once more.
Well, I think I have said enough of what I know of love, which is really not that much in the end. I hope you take from this what you will, which is more my opinion than anything else borne from experience. All I know of love is that it can be amazing and that somewhere, in the depth of my soul, I long for it to last forever.
"Only those whose lives are so brief can imagine love to be eternal. You should embrace that remarkable illusion... I think that it is the greatest gift your race has ever received. " --- Lorien, Babylon 5
C.
2 comments:
Thought-provoking post you have here. There's always the delicate balance of doing too much or not enough when it comes to relationships. It's also harder as we get older and become more used to single life or being set in our ways. I always ask myself: what's fair to give up or ask someone else to, in order to make it work? And you also bring up a topic that I have difficulty with in long distance relationships in that they seem to be more trouble than they're worth (tried it once).
It's hard to change as we get older I've noticed... I don't think I would make many of the same mistakes I did when I was younger if faced with the same decisions now... so am I less romantic or idealistic, probably not, just a tad more pragmatic. Yeah, long distance relationships are tricky, and in the end, tend to be too much trouble...
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