Requisites of Love
I'VE ALWAYS BEEN a sucker for the love bug; even as far back as elementary school, my philosophy with relationships has always been all or nothing, you either feel it or you don't. But when you do feel it, when it washes over you so quick and so hard you don't even know how to express yourself but with a smile, it is something unmistakable. It's love.
That's how it is with Beth. When I was in high school, I'd always be watching those Maury episodes where some girl tries to explain why she loves the man who beats her, cheats on her, and in some worst-case scenarios tries to kill her. It never made sense to me. Why be with someone who makes you unhappy? Why let yourself be hurt? The answer of "love" seems like such a cop-out, like just the easy answer that makes you not have to think about it anymore because "love" does all the thinking for you. But now I understand, because, like I said, that's how it is with Beth.
I believe there was a time--and this time may have genuinely existed for mere seconds--when Beth was in love with me. It wasn't in the beginning, and it wasn't in the end, and I would even venture to say that it wasn't in the middle either. But there were days when the thought of love for me poured out of her head by the gallons; on days like that I hardly had to read her mind, she thought so loudly. One day recently, she asked me when I knew, one hundred percent, that she didn't love me anymore. I couldn't answer then, but I know the answer now...
Whenever we would get into a fight, if it really escalated to some irreversible boiling point, I would test the waters of her love. I could smell something in her thoughts, something that reeked of emotionlessness, and I wanted to see if it was true. So, I'd get into my car and drive away, and every single time I did, I'd get to the stop sign, turn around and come back. Because I just couldn't do it. Because I just couldn't leave. Because without her, I'm just that lonely. And when I walked back through the door, I could smell the smug realization that she controlled me wafting through her brain, and I could almost sense a smile in there somewhere. But it was never the same with her. When we fought, she kept the same axiom set resolutely in her mind: I don't need him. It was something that had been there since she was a child, placed there by a mother who made certain no man would tell her little girls what to do.
Well, she succeeded, but at the cost of severing their connections to self-actualization. Sure no man would ever control them unjustly, but neither would any man ever feel truly loved by them because, in the end, those little girls would never be able to fully trust their men. And so there it was, sitting in the back of her mind, a thought so opposed to love that the two could never peacefully coexist. And when she got in her car and drove away, the stubbornness innately drilled into her head as a child made her never come back; that stop sign didn't mean a damn thing to her, not like it did to me. She didn't love me like I love her. She didn't need me, and she was happy to say it. And for the very same reasons, she was never able to fully understand or appreciate my love for her and all that came with it.
The ironic part was, she didn't have to give it back. My love doesn't require her to.
That's how it is with Beth. When I was in high school, I'd always be watching those Maury episodes where some girl tries to explain why she loves the man who beats her, cheats on her, and in some worst-case scenarios tries to kill her. It never made sense to me. Why be with someone who makes you unhappy? Why let yourself be hurt? The answer of "love" seems like such a cop-out, like just the easy answer that makes you not have to think about it anymore because "love" does all the thinking for you. But now I understand, because, like I said, that's how it is with Beth.
I believe there was a time--and this time may have genuinely existed for mere seconds--when Beth was in love with me. It wasn't in the beginning, and it wasn't in the end, and I would even venture to say that it wasn't in the middle either. But there were days when the thought of love for me poured out of her head by the gallons; on days like that I hardly had to read her mind, she thought so loudly. One day recently, she asked me when I knew, one hundred percent, that she didn't love me anymore. I couldn't answer then, but I know the answer now...
Whenever we would get into a fight, if it really escalated to some irreversible boiling point, I would test the waters of her love. I could smell something in her thoughts, something that reeked of emotionlessness, and I wanted to see if it was true. So, I'd get into my car and drive away, and every single time I did, I'd get to the stop sign, turn around and come back. Because I just couldn't do it. Because I just couldn't leave. Because without her, I'm just that lonely. And when I walked back through the door, I could smell the smug realization that she controlled me wafting through her brain, and I could almost sense a smile in there somewhere. But it was never the same with her. When we fought, she kept the same axiom set resolutely in her mind: I don't need him. It was something that had been there since she was a child, placed there by a mother who made certain no man would tell her little girls what to do.
Well, she succeeded, but at the cost of severing their connections to self-actualization. Sure no man would ever control them unjustly, but neither would any man ever feel truly loved by them because, in the end, those little girls would never be able to fully trust their men. And so there it was, sitting in the back of her mind, a thought so opposed to love that the two could never peacefully coexist. And when she got in her car and drove away, the stubbornness innately drilled into her head as a child made her never come back; that stop sign didn't mean a damn thing to her, not like it did to me. She didn't love me like I love her. She didn't need me, and she was happy to say it. And for the very same reasons, she was never able to fully understand or appreciate my love for her and all that came with it.
The ironic part was, she didn't have to give it back. My love doesn't require her to.
The Best way to get over one girl is to get under another one. Just talking from experience, you wouldn't realize how many are on the market. grab your balls, make sure they're big, and ask em out!!
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Wednesday, October 03, 2007 9:21:00 AM