Real Love

… What is it?

Don’t ask me.

I have come to the conclusion that I have become somewhat of a borderline cynical realist about Love. I simply do not buy into the charm of The Story anymore. You know what I’m talking about. The Story — it’s how we embellish the truth of what’s taking place between two people to make it all shiny twinkley and magical, maybe even cue in background music and mood lighting, if you will. There is the exception of the very, very few, who I can say are ‘fairy tale’ status, but that is as rare as finding a diamond in a long strip of sandy beach.

This is not to say that I don’t think I’ll ever “find love” and will choose to remain single for the rest of my life. Please. Over dramatic. I have just had a strange realization with myself that I have become disinterested in pursuing anything with anyone because I am being realistic about the situation. The situation being, I am too young, to really give a sh*t. The effort, the dedication, the compromise, the time put forth in really giving a crap about someone? Holy. I’m exhausted.

Where does all this stem from? Perhaps my past ideals with romance, how it’s all “supposed to happen” and experiencing… that it doesn’t happen that way. It’s like your first kiss. The leg pops up and it’s pure bliss. Lies. It’s so awkward you half wish you were drunk. “Oh, is that a tongue? That’s kind of slimy, but apparently this is supposed to be freaking awesome. I don’t get it.” I called my best friend Amie post first kiss and asked her, “Amie, was your first kiss magical? I thought it was supposed to be magical.” The veil has been removed from my eyes.

Don’t assume that someone came along and has tainted me terribly to gain this perspective. There is no particular circumstance or individual this is targeted towards. Generally speaking, I look at all The Stories (and you know the epic stories that make my life), and much of them, in the Romance chapters, have lost all their essence.

Sad. Sad? Mmm. Unidentified emotion.

I believe this is just my current state and thought process until someone with incredible substance and swagger steps forth and rocks me upside the head. I don’t think I’m ready for him yet. Until then, there is a bag of Doritos with my name on it, and 3 episodes of How I Met Your Mother that I can watch before bed time.

I’ve spoken my piece.


1 Comment »

  1. Tara Rodas said,

    06/02/2009 @ 12:27 pm

    Ah, definitions… Now that you’ve let go of the standard elementary school girls definition of love (James still believes in the leg pop, btw, but it doesn’t have to be the first time.. It’s good anytime) aren’t you excited to get dirty out find some real hard frustersting easy fun annoying everything everyday love? Just like anything love can be described as different things at different time right? I imagine the fairy tale version would get old.

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