For the love of being in love

Was watching Ally McBeal again today, this was the part where the guy just left without a word. Towards the end of the episode, she solemnly said that there will always be love again. I believe her.

An alleged psychic once said that I was in love with the idea of being in love. I believe her too.

What’s not to like? The butterflies in your stomach, the constant blushing, the inability to stop from grinning like an idiot ( yeah, you know what I’m talking about), the warm feeling that spreads all over, the stolen glances and of course, feeling like you’re going to explode should there be no contact for more than 2 minutes.

No, this is not love. Infatuation is more like it. Love is what comes after. Love is…see I have never been able to come to a conclusion on what love is. If anyone would like to take a stab at it, be my guest. Part of what love is perhaps involves sharing a history with someone, coming to know a person so well that you would volunteer to take away his/her hurts and pains if you possibly could…some of it if not all.

See, love is no fun. It hurts.

Infatuation, on the other hand, is what we should all strive for. If life could be nothing but an endless string of infatuations, the human race would be recorded in history as peaceful and loving beings who want nothing more than world peace.

Life as it turns out, being the sonovabitch that it is, will not allow this. In order to get from one infatuation to another, there has to be pain and disappointment. Mother-nature and the powers that be are jerking our chains, making us go round and round in circles.

Be you happy, be you sad.

Be you excited, be you disappointed.

Be you alive, be you dead.