How strange is our capacity for love?
Love flows in seasons
Dries up in others
Love follows
No command other than
To honor it's own existence
Showing posts with label on love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label on love. Show all posts
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Monday, March 26, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Saturday, October 15, 2011
On Love
"It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know
what we're talking about when we talk about love."
- Raymond Carver
There isn't a lot to say about the little we know
about the little we've lived and know about
Love. It's a joy, a rare interlude in the moments
between other extremes. An unknown quanitity
that rarely confines itself to the parameters of
language, something others can explore freely
while others read about it in books and maga
zines without ever having any sense as to its
scope and the broad range of troubles and or
complications it is bound to bring about in
either its pursuance or dissolution. We will
commit the most selfless acts for it as well
as the most selfish. We will lie about it to
maintain it just a little longer, both to our
selves and to our so called beloved. It's
presence and absence are constants in our
all of our lives. It inflicts unnecessary pain
and suffering on us, though that problem is
largely self-administered. The hope of it is
enough to continue the illusion that it may
yet still come in even in the unlikeliest of
circumstances. Love is not a ring, it is not
a thing that can be reduced to a physical
trifle. If it exists, it must exist in a world
of platonic ideals. A world of shadows,
but a world where we are finding our way
slowly. A world where even the heart of
a hardened cynic can be made to destroy
the cast iron shell built to protect it from
harm.
what we're talking about when we talk about love."
- Raymond Carver
There isn't a lot to say about the little we know
about the little we've lived and know about
Love. It's a joy, a rare interlude in the moments
between other extremes. An unknown quanitity
that rarely confines itself to the parameters of
language, something others can explore freely
while others read about it in books and maga
zines without ever having any sense as to its
scope and the broad range of troubles and or
complications it is bound to bring about in
either its pursuance or dissolution. We will
commit the most selfless acts for it as well
as the most selfish. We will lie about it to
maintain it just a little longer, both to our
selves and to our so called beloved. It's
presence and absence are constants in our
all of our lives. It inflicts unnecessary pain
and suffering on us, though that problem is
largely self-administered. The hope of it is
enough to continue the illusion that it may
yet still come in even in the unlikeliest of
circumstances. Love is not a ring, it is not
a thing that can be reduced to a physical
trifle. If it exists, it must exist in a world
of platonic ideals. A world of shadows,
but a world where we are finding our way
slowly. A world where even the heart of
a hardened cynic can be made to destroy
the cast iron shell built to protect it from
harm.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
minor complications
a heart beating out of time
is always much cause for concern.
intense attraction to members of the
opposite sex can lead to fluttering
feelings and a redness of the cheeks.
this intensifies when the desired one
is out of bounds due to prior
emotional commitments.
at some point something must happen
on the side of the one looking to gain the
others affection. perhaps something is
awkwardly said in a moment of alcohol
fueled courage. that course is never
advised. if the topic is broached while
sober the chance for success increases.
when the subject is broached there can
only be rejection or acceptance. at that
time new complications arise.
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