I used to say I didn’t believe in love. The concept, romantic love that is unconditional and born out of nothing more than good friendships with sex, seemed false and impossible in a modern day society that chokes itself on manmade gas and sets fire to the desert to spite the sea.
It is not that love doesn’t exist on this swirling turning planet of seven billion people and counting. It’s that it doesn’t mean anything. Seven billion people. Why should it matter if one person loves another? Why is it exciting if they love them back?
This globe we live in is one mass-produced mess. Your trainers are unique if only twenty other people wear them. That book that changed your life sits on hundreds, thousands of book shelves and is read all day every day. That song you heard that one time when you needed it has two million views on youtube, it’s a private joke between a group of people in China, it’s the first song a kid in America ever learned to play on guitar. Everything is everywhere; nothing is unique and nothing is special. So, why would love by any different? There were around 350 million people on earth in the fifteenth-century, so it was probably pretty bloody exciting when someone fell in love. It was probably the only person in the village who it had actually happened to. It was probably noteworthy. Now? There’s too much. Love has become another mass-produced amenity. You want water, you want food, you want clothes, shelter, love. You expect romance. You expect rain and late night kisses.
Your best mate is in love with a girl, and she loves him back, and that’s pretty special but it’s also happened two doors down from you, and in the creepy house opposite, and in fact it seems like everyone’s in love. So, you are too.
You love a boy and that’s fantastic, you’re soaring, but he doesn’t love you back and “actually mate, you aren’t the only one”, and declarations are being thrown down, tossed around, and love is disposable. Throw out your water bottle, trade in the telly. Toss love around like it’s nothing.
I do believe in love – but I don’t want it and I don’t need it. In the early twentieth century one pound was worth a lot, but the government made more money and more money on top of that, and now it’s approaching worthless. You say you love me today, and tomorrow it means a little less. And the next day even less than that. And love is as real as the penny in my purse, but there are plenty of pennies going around, and if they’re counterfeit hardly anyone will notice.
janainaart
dailybridgerton
izzy806
jbbartram-illu
stormborns
kaledo-art
blakekathryn
dededos
baratheonpilled
