Love Undefined

I could see myself reveling in the rapture of this thing called love. The romantic in me would always find justifications and meanings to the call of a man’s affection and affectations. When he mouths those 3 precious words, I begin to melt. I turn into thin liquid, I lose my solid existence. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I don’t want to evaporate – which would render me atmospheric and therefore lose love’s presence. This thing called love truly exists. Or how else can we explain the narratives and never-ending use of it as the story’s nucleus?

For many years now, I have fallen in love. A gazillion times. I have lost them loves, too. In simplistic and exasperating account, I repeatedly evaporate into the atmosphere of my subject(s) of affection and affectation. The habits I have acquired seemingly guide (the) men to go the other way and find solidity. Ad infinitum, I do not learn the right way of the compounding preservation of loving and keeping a man.

My awkward predisposition is to expect that love is permanent; that no strong wind or disaster can move its place in a person’s heart.

“Because you love me, I can still be who I am. You may be irritated and dislike the behavior, but you still love me! How could you not??? If you didn’t, then you did not truly define love’s meaning,” my monologue presents.

How absurd and backwards can I really get?

By now I should know how to keep love in my heart. I wonder why despite my prophetic babble, I concurrently question its existence and bearings. Is it because I expect it to change its course, or differ from how strong or weak it was in the beginning? Must I measure its value and true meaning because I have never truly kept one alive?

Loving IS testy. I find the idea challenging and sometimes undefined. I also get trapped in my own fear of losing it. My anxieties have dictated the failed affairs of the heart, and no chemical solution(s) formulate a positive reaction.

A rule comes to mind: Don’t question it, and instead live and accept it. Regardless of how many times he tells me or not tell me, it needs to be established that it is there living in our world. Forget the rules and inclinations to want it perpetually, or even working day by day to enliven it. Just live it.

I simply need to relax, focus on the many features and the high quality these same elements combine in the natural science of my life. The universe or that of mine consists of limitless and sparing chemistry more than just love, utterly still…

Undefined.